The Claws of the Kitten
by LTAOZFAN
Summary: Team Possible encounters a new criminal who seems to be very good at the business of being evil. Has Kim Possible finally met someone who will defeat her?
1. Chapter 1

The Claws of the Kitten

**The Claws of the Kitten**

**PART ONE - The Cat Comes In**

**The Possible Home, Middleton, Colorado, Late April**

BEEP! BEEP! BE-BEEP!

Kim Possible, teenager, cheerleader, top-rank high school junior and occasionally world-saving hero, took three quick steps across the room to her bedside table and picked up the Kimunicator. She flipped it open and spoke to the young, cheerful face of Wade Load, pre-teen PhD, computer master and technical gadgetry designer, that was on the screen.

"Go, Wade!"

"Hi, Kim! I've got a request for you, from the Global Justice Network. They want you to help protect the Star of Ireland at the Field Museum in Chicago, tonight."

"The Star of Ireland?" Kim prompted. "What is it?"

"The only diamond ever found in the entire world to have a pure emerald-green color. It was found in South Africa eight years ago in the Kimberley diamond mines," Wade explained. "A special exhibit on gems will open at the museum tomorrow. The Star of Ireland is part of it, and Global Justice has heard that some collector has offered a cat burglar ten million dollars if she can get it for him. The museum guards will watch the outside of the building to spot anybody trying to break in, but GJ would like you to cover the display room inside tonight, in case she slips past the guards and gets into the building in the dark."

"Wade, you said 'she.' You mean that this cat burglar is a woman?" In the screen, Wade nodded while he took a sip of his ever-present cola.

"Yep. A young French lady who goes by the name of 'La Chatonne.' She's supposed to be the grand-daughter of 'La Chatte,' who was a super cat burglar in Paris about fifty years ago."

"So, she's sort of carrying on the family tradition, huh? Can you find any pictures or a description of her?" Kim inquired. "What's her M. O.?"

"There's almost nothing on the web," Wade answered. "Like most cat burglars do, she wears an all-black outfit, but with a face-mask that looks like a cat. According to the GJ file they sent with their request, La Chatonne only started stealing things about fifteen months ago." Wade shrugged helplessly. "Other than that, it's bupkis."

Kim frowned and then nodded once. "Well, I just finished dinner, and there's no school tomorrow, so, sure, Wade, can do! Let me check to see if Ron can go - ."

Wade looked smug as he interrupted Kim. "I already checked with Ron, and he can go. I figured you could make it, too, so I told him to go to your house for the pick-up."

"Cool! What's our ride?"

"Global Justice is sending a hoverjet to pick you and Ron up." Wade glanced up at the clock. "It'll arrive outside your house in eleven minutes."

"Thanks, Wade. As usual, you rock!" Kim snapped off the Kimunicator, changed to her mission clothes, and hurried down the stairs from her loft room to the Possible family kitchen.

"Mom, Daddy? Ron and I have a mission tonight. A Global Justice hoverjet will be here in four minutes to pick us up," Kim explained. Her father lowered the evening newspaper, while Tim and Jim looked up from their desserts, and Ann turned from the sink where she was loading the dishwasher with the supper dishes.

"Where is it this time, Kimmie-cub? Half-way around the world again?"

"It's not that far, Daddy. There's a special exhibit of rare gems opening tomorrow at the Field Museum in Chicago, and it may get robbed tonight."

"Ah, Chicago. The home of the White Sox!" James Possible smiled at his wife as he spoke, while she smiled back and said, "Go, Cubbies!" Kim's parents grinned at each other in shared amusement.

"Chicago?" Tim mused, and then added, "The Bears!" Jim dropped his voice an octave and said, "Da Bulls!" They exchanged a 'high five' and chorused, "Yeah!"

"Oh, Kimmie-cub, while you're in the Field Museum, remember to take a look at Bushman," said James Possible. "That African gorilla is quite a sight to see."

"I will if I can, Daddy. G'night, Mom!" Kim kissed her mother and hurried out the front door, to find Ron Stoppable, her BFBF, side-kick, below-average high school student, school sports mascot and expert distraction, already waiting on the sidewalk.

"Hey, KP, all set to spend another night stopping the bad guys?" Ron was in his mission clothes, with Rufus, his pet naked mole rat and close companion, looking out of his favorite pocket in anticipation of an evening of fun.

"All set, Ron." The hoverjet came floating out of the sky, settled down on the street in front of the Possible home, and a door swung open. Kim and Ron boarded, sat down and strapped in, as the hoverjet lifted off again.

"Next stop, Chicago. The home of the Blackhawks! Boo-Yah!" Rufus echoed his master with a naked mole rat's cheer. Kim rolled her eyes in dismay. Did everyone she knew follow a different Chicago sports team? This sitch was starting out a bit weirder than some.

**The Field Natural History Museum, Chicago, Illinois, That Night**

James Possible had been absolutely right. The mounted form of Bushman was quite a sight. The big gorilla stood on all fours in a simple glass case so that visitors could look him directly in the eye. The case obviously could never have prevented a live gorilla from breaking out, and the specialists who mounted the specimen had made him look amazingly life-like.

"Wow! You half expect to see him blink!" marveled Ron. Rufus had run up to Ron's shoulder, taken one good look through the glass at Bushman, and immediately dived back into his favorite pocket. Kim silently agreed with the mole rat. That gorilla was so real-looking it was spooky. And it seemed to be affecting Ron's composure.

"Ron? Are you nervous about being this close to a big monkey?" Kim gently asked.

"No, I'm not nervous! Why should I be nervous? Everything's fine, KP, I've got everything under control."

Kim nodded and smiled slightly. "Well, come on, Ron, let's get back upstairs, check the special exhibit, and pick our spot to watch it. Anybody planning to steal that diamond won't announce their arrival."

"Okay, KP. You know, just once it would be nice if a crook came in with a brass band or something," Ron remarked. "It's always the same 'sneaky - sneaky' business." Ron looked back twice at the gorilla in the case as they headed for the stairs. It hadn't moved . . . had it?

At the top of the stairs they entered the exhibit on Africa in general. Kim and Ron walked the short distance to the main hall, which stretched the length of the building, from north to south, and towered three stories to the roof.

"The exhibition is in that room across this hall," Kim said. "We'll go along the walls around the main hall, so we can stay in the shadows."

Ron nodded. Out in the main exhibit hall they'd be spotted at once by anyone who might be hiding in the building, so they walked up the west side of the hall to the north entrance.

"KP? I'm getting a little freaked out by this place," said Ron. "All these exhibits with stuffed animals, with those glass eyes, looking at us." He let his gaze roam over the main exhibit hall floor. "That gorilla downstairs was bad enough, but out there, those two elephants . . . are you sure they don't move, sometimes?" He gazed at the exhibit in the middle of the hall, which consisted of two full-size elephants fighting each other. "Should I throw them some peanuts to keep from being stepped on? I like pancakes," Ron added, "but I don't want to look like one."

Kim didn't answer at once, for what Ron had said brought her own feelings to the fore. A natural history museum at night isn't exactly the most normal place you could be. It's full of shadows that can hide a lot, and frequently do. The stuffed animals seem to be watching everything, and the mounted skeletons seem almost alive. Kim and Ron moved quietly toward the special exhibit hall, passing the huge skeleton of a Tyranosaurus Rex that stood near the north end of the main hall, where they paused to scan the area.

"Kim, how did they know that this is the skeleton of a lady dinosaur?" Ron's question was so unexpected that Kim had to mentally shift gears before she replied.

"A lady dinosaur? What do you mean, Ron?"

"Well, this label here says this thing is named 'Sue,' and that's a girl's name, so it must be a 'she,' right?"

Kim reined in her exasperation before she answered her partner. "Ron, they call it 'Sue' because the scientist who found the skeleton was named 'Sue.' Nobody knows if this T. Rex is a 'he' or a 'she.'"

"Oh." Ron gazed up at the great creature's skeleton again. "Anyway, it sure has big teeth!"

"Head in the game, Ron! Come on."

At the entrance to the special gem exhibit, Kim pointed out a locked metal box mounted on the wall beside the door.

"The controls for the special alarms are in there, Ron, but we don't have any way to turn them off, reset them or trigger them. Do you think Rufus could get inside it and set it off if we have to?" Kim looked down at the naked mole rat as she spoke.

"Piece of cake, KP. Here, Rufus, ol' pal. Think you could get in there and hit the alarms if we need 'em?" Ron lifted his little pink friend to the box as he spoke. Rufus studied the metal box, shifting his head to judge the size of the air vents and then gave them a 'thumbs up' and chirped, "Okay!"

"Good," said Kim. "Now, Ron, if this La Chatonne does show up, you have Rufus trigger the system. That'll bring the guards inside on the double."

"You got that, Rufus? An extra helping of nacos for a good job, buddy," Ron asked his small friend, receiving a nod in reply.

Together Team Possible moved a short distance away from the gem exhibit and took up station behind a low display case. They could see the approach to the gem exhibit and the door itself, but remained hidden in shadows. It was a good place to wait and see if the reported French cat burglar would show up.

About an hour later there was a low sound from the roof over the main exhibit hall. Kim shifted her position to take a look and saw that a piece of the glass in a skylight seemed to be missing. She tapped Ron on the shoulder, put her lips to his left ear, and whispered, "She's here, Ron. Stand by for action!"

As Team Possible watched in silence, a long rope came down from the main exhibit hall ceiling, the end of it touching the floor just outside the exhibit hall with the gems in it. A moment later a figure dressed in a black all-over outfit came gliding down the rope. The whirr of a mechanical device could heard. The person on the rope dropped lightly to the floor, like a cat jumping out of a chair. Something remained on the rope, about shoulder-high.

_A power-lift device that will let her down and pull her up the rope! _Kim thought. _Cool! I wonder if the Global Justice R & D people can make me one of those?_

Swiftly and silently the visitor flitted across the floor from shadow to shadow, using every scrap of cover to mask her movements. If they hadn't seen her arrive, Team Possible might not have noticed the intruder at all.

_Boo-Yah,_ thought Ron, _this lady is good. But she'll find that KP is better!_

They silently followed the stranger up to the entrance to the special exhibit hall, where she stopped to examine the security system panel. Kim gave Ron's arm the special squeeze that meant 'showtime!' and moved in on their target.

"Don't you believe in using the door?" Kim's voice broke the silence, and the black-clad figure spun around, falling into a combat stance as Kim and Ron stepped into the light. They could now see that, along with a black, close-fitting coverall, this person wore a mask that covered the nose and upper face, and was shaped like the face of a cat. The figure spoke in a female voice, with a distinctly French accent.

"Hah! C'est l'équipe Possible."

"We know who we are. You're La Chatonne, I suppose?" Kim replied as she shifted to a fighting stance and moved to one side of the black-clad figure.

"Yeah, it's polite to identify yourself when you're being busted," Ron added, moving to the other side to split the thief's attention.

"Je m'appelle La Chatonne, M'sieur et Mademoiselle," the lithe figure replied. She shifted into English. "I am 'The Kitten.' And you are interfering in things you should leave alone."

"Would that be a catty remark, KP?"

Kim didn't answer Ron's whimsical question, but lunged forward at La Chatonne instead. The cat burglar flipped to one side and threw a kick at Kim, who easily dodged it. Kim reversed and met her opponent's counterattack, dropping to the floor and lashing out with her legs to knock her over. But La Chatonne leaped to one side and made a countermove herself.

For several minutes Kim and La Chatonne fenced, in an elegant display of martial arts techniques, but neither could land a disabling blow. Ron was so amazed by their moves that he stopped looking for openings to take down the intruder, and just watched the fight. He'd never seen Kim up against such a skillful adversary as this before, not even Shego. _It's almost like a dance!_ Ron marveled. _You'd think they had rehearsed this!_

"Ron! Hit the alarm system!" Kim shouted, as she did a flying kick that sent La Chatonne down and skidding ten feet across the smooth floor. Ron immediately ran to the wall panel for the alarm on the special exhibit hall and held his pet up to the vent.

"Rufus! You're on, little buddy!" The naked mole rat slipped between the louvres and a moment later the emergency lights came on in the museum. What sounded like a foghorn, an air-raid siren and a submarine diving alarm all promptly began shattering the silence in an all-out, no-holds-barred, 'who-can-make-the-most-noise?' contest.

La Chatonne rolled over, sprang to her feet, leaped to the lifting mechanism on the rope and triggered it. The device rose up the rope until the cat burglar was about fifteen feet above the museum floor, where she stopped briefly and looked down at Team Possible.

"You have stopped me this time, Kim Possible!" she shouted over the alarm sounds. "But do not cross the path of La Chatonne again, for if you do, you will only fail."

Kim held a combat stance in case the figure came back down. "Why wait? We can do round two right here and now."

Instead of bringing her back down, the device hoisted the cat burglar up to the roof, as she called back, "You have been warned . . . ! "

"As if _that's_ not a cliché," Ron remarked to Rufus.

The alarms continued to wage war on the ears of anyone who wasn't deaf. Kim checked the door to the gem exhibit and saw that it was undamaged. At least the nimble and capable cat burglar hadn't taken anything with her.

The alarms suddenly cut off and the silence came back from wherever it had been hiding. Moments later, a group of museum guards poured into the hall.

"Aww, man! I just hate it when the bad guy gets away," Ron grumbled. "It's worse than when Bueno Nacho runs out of nacos." Rufus made a "Get away — bleah!" sound in agreement.

"Forget it, Ron, she didn't get the Star of Ireland, and that's what we were here to protect," Kim reminded him. Then she turned and spoke to one of the museum guards.

"She came in by a rope from the skylight. Nothing was taken, but I'm afraid the thief got away," she reported.

"That's all right, Miss Possible. So long as the gems are safe, it's not a total failure. We'll protect things now, and bring in a repair crew for the skylight." Kim frowned for a moment, then pulled out the GJ signal beeper and called for their ride.

"Okay. Come on, Ron, we'd better get back." With Ron and Rufus in tow, Kim headed out the door, to where the GJ hoverjet would pick them up and take them home.

As they waited, Ron realized than Kim was upset. She paced back and forth, as if she had so much energy that she could not remain still.

"What's wrong, Kim?" Ron asked. "Sure, she got away, but we stopped the robbery."

"That guard!" Kim snapped. "He said this wasn't 'a total failure!' Ron, I don't like to be told we didn't do a good job."

"Well, KP, that La Chatonne character has a lot on the ball," Ron remarked. "Outside of you and Shego, I've never seen anybody with moves like that gal had." A moment later Ron realized he had not helped the situation a bit, as Kim turned and fixed a steely-eyed look at him.

"Oh, really? Thanks for the comfort, I don't think!" Kim was gazing at her partner and friend in a less-than-friendly manner.

"Ahhh, well, I just meant that she's good . . . almost as good as you are, KP." Ron verbally executed damage control on the situation, and mentally kicked himself for not realizing Kim was really upset about the cat burglar's escape.

Kim's shoulders sagged slightly, and at last she nodded. "Yeah, she's good. Real good! But the next time I meet that French feline she will _not_ get away so easily." Kim considered the matter and then added, "In fact, Ron, she will not get away _at all_!"

The Global Justice hoverjet chose that moment to arrive, landing on the pavement in front of the museum steps. Without any more words, Kim and Ron climbed aboard, and headed back to Middleton.

**Middleton High School, two weeks later, mid-May**

"Hey, KP! Anything new about the French feline?" Ron asked, as he met Kim at her locker, between classes.

"I hope so. Wade's been searching the Internet about her for me." Kim opened her locker and was greeted by Wade's cheerful face on the screen of her two-way TV set.

"Hey, Wade! What's up?" Kim and Ron spoke in unison. Ron immediately looked at Kim and said, "Jinx! You owe me a soda, KP."

Wade grinned and cleared his throat to regain their attention. "Kim, you asked me to keep checking for stuff on La Chatonne, and I've found two more items."

Kim smiled like a hungry shark. "Something about where she lives, maybe?"

"No such luck. But I traced two heists she's pulled. The first was six weeks ago, when she stole a 20 bill from a money museum in Ottawa, Canada. The second was - "

"Wait a sec," said Ron, "she stole just _one_ 20 bill? That's pretty small change."

"Not this one, Ron. During World War Two the government had the word 'Hawaii' printed on paper money for use in Hawaii, so that if the Japanese took over the islands the Treasury could refuse to honor those bills." Wade glanced at a secondary screen and then looked back at Kim. "This 20 bill was one of those 'Hawaii' bills, and it was in almost perfect condition. The going price on the collector's market would be at least 50,000."

Kim's eyebrows went up in surprise, and Ron gave a whistle of amazement.

"Man, I take back what I said," Ron remarked. "That is _not _small change!"

"What was her other heist?" Kim asked.

"A rare Civil War cavalry carbine was taken from a big gun collection in Indiana, three days ago. It was something called 'a coffee-mill Sharps.'"

"A gun combined with a coffee mill? That sounds sort of weird."

"It would help you to keep the coffee for yourself on a cold morning," Ron observed.

Wade took another sip of his cola. "Back in 1864 somebody had the idea of putting a grinding mill in the butt of the Sharps Model 1863 breech-loading carbine, so the troopers didn't have to carry extra equipment to grind up any grain or coffee beans they found while they were foraging on raiding missions. Here's a picture of one." He quickly tapped his computer keyboard, and a picture of a cavalry carbine with a metal crank handle fastened to the right side of the butt appeared on the monitor screen.

"It not only sounds weird, it looks weird, too," Kim said, pulling out the books for her next class as she spoke.

"It was a bad idea, all right," Wade replied. "The crank handle got in the way, the soldiers hated the guns, and most of them were scrapped or converted into regular carbines pretty quick." The picture of the carbine was replaced by Wade's image. "That's why there's only about ten original examples left today."

"And collectors will pay big bucks for one, right?" Ron asked.

"Right! That's probably why La Chatonne took this one." On the TV screen Wade looked at Kim quizzically. "You really want to bust her, don't you?"

Kim nodded. "Like you wouldn't believe, Wade! Let me know if you get anything on where she might be, okay? Now, I have to get to class."

"Back to the grind, eh? You have my sympathy. Talk to you later, Kim! Bye!"

"Gotta scoot, KP. Bueno Nacho after school, okay?"

"Okay, Ron." Kim closed the locker and headed for her French class. She was really working hard to ace the course. One of these days it would be very useful to be able to speak good French. _And I'm gonna be ready!_ Kim said to herself.

**End of Part One**

Author's Notes: The Field Museum of Natural History in Chicago, Illinois, does have a mounted Tyrannosaurus Rex skeleton that is named 'Sue.' Bushman, the gorilla, lived in the Lincoln Park Zoo, Chicago, for many years, and was a major drawing card for visitors. After the gorilla died his skin was mounted for display in the Field Museum, exactly as described.

The 'Hawaii' money actually existed during World War Two, and such bills are highly prized by currency collectors. The 'coffee-mill Sharps' is a real weapon, and very, very few originals are known to exist.

"C'est l'équipe Possible" means "It is Team Possible."

"Je m'appelle La Chatonne, M'sieur et Mademoiselle" means "I am The Kitten, mister and miss."


	2. Chapter 2

The Claws of the Kitten

**The Claws of the Kitten**

**PART TWO - "Take Her Down!"**

Author's notes: Many thanks to those who have read and commented on Part One: CajunBear73, CaptainDeadpool, NakedMoleDog, ScreamingPhoenix and Waveform. Speculation on where the story is going and what will happen is appreciate and encouraged.

Disclaimer: All characters, locations and situations drawn from the TV series _Kim Possible_ are the property of Disney. The Field Museum belongs to the people of Chicago. Chicago professional sports teams belong to their respective owners. All other stuff in this story, and the plot, belong to me.

**Monk's Cay, Just North of New Providence Island, The Bahamas, Late June**

"Hey, Wade, got any news for me?" In the Kimunicator screen Wade's face reflected puzzlement.

"Hey, Kim, I thought you didn't want any new missions while your family is on this vacation. That's why I put a 'Hold' notice on the website."

"I don't mean _new_ business," said Kim. "Have you heard anything more about La Chatonne?"

"You're still on her case, aren't you?" Wade frowned. "Well, I have found reports about nine thefts that might have been done by her, but I'm only sure about four of them." He tapped his keyboard and called up a list on a second monitor.

"Now, since she tried to rob the Field Museum in Chicago, - "

"Wade, I know about that one," Kim interrupted. "Ron and I were there, remember? We kept her from stealing that diamond."

"Right. But since then there's been just four times that she's been seen and identified. Once in Indiana, when she took that Civil War carbine with the built-in coffee mill, then at the British Museum, where she took the original manuscript of _Alice in Wonderland_, and the third time was in St. Louis." Wade shifted his gaze from the second screen to look at Kim. "You stopped her in St. Louis, too."

Kim nodded. The French cat burglar had tried to steal a Stradivarius violin from a special exhibit of musical instruments, and Team Possible had foiled her.

"But she still got away, Wade." Kim frowned. "What and where was the fourth robbery?"

"She took a Czarist Russian Easter egg from a private museum in New York City." He checked the second screen again and added, "That was two weeks ago."

"All small things that are worth a lot," Kim mused. "What's next, I wonder? The Hope Diamond?"

"Probably not," Wade commented. "She seems to go for something a bit different each time, so maybe she'll go for something bigger, next."

"Well, even though we're on vacation, if you hear anything, Wade, let me know about it." Kim's voice was very firm.

"I will. Say, what are you folks doing down there on New Providence, anyway? Besides enjoying the sand, sun, surfing and waterskiing, I mean."

"Actually, we're on a little island just north of New Providence, Wade. It's called Monk's Cay."

"I bet Ron didn't like that name when he heard it - monk's key," Wade chuckled. Kim mentally agreed. Even though the word was spelled C - A - Y, it was pronounced as if it was spelled K - E - Y, and anything that sounded like 'monkey' made Ron nervous.

"It's a few miles from Nassau," Kim went on. "Well, Daddy knows Doctor Wimsey, the person in charge of this oceanographic research submarine project, and she invited him to come down, see what it's all about, and take some time off with his family. She said it was time he looked under the sea instead of just out into space." Kim paused and Wade promptly began to sing, with a Jamaican accent to his voice.

"_Under da sea. Under da sea. __Science is better, down where it's wetter, take it from me._"

Kim giggled for a moment, and then went on. "We got here two days ago, took a tour of Nassau, did some shopping and generally relaxed a bit. Today Doctor Wimsey is going to show us this minisubmarine they're testing. It's named _Simon_."

In the screen Wade grinned wickedly. "I get it! The name _Garfunkel_ is too long to paint on it, right?"

"No, Wade, it's - " He interrupted her with a fresh comment.

"Wait, wait, don't tell me! The name _Alvin_ has already been used for a minisub, and they don't like the name _Theodore_."

Kim gave Wade her 'annoyed' look. "_No_, Wade, it's named for Simon Lake, an early 20th-century pioneer submarine builder."

"Really?" Wade replied. "I've never heard of him before."

"Google the name," said Kim. "I'm sure you'll find something."

"I know, Kim," he chuckled, "I was just kidding."

A question that had been simmering at the back of Kim's mind happened to pop up just then, and she decided to get the answer.

"Wade? By any chance, are you a fan of any of the major Chicago sports teams? You know, the White Sox, the Bulls or the Bears?"

"Well, I don't follow any of those teams, Kim."

"How about the Cubs, or the Blackhawks hockey team?" Kim went on.

"Nope, neither one." Wade paused for a moment, and then added, "But the Chicago Rush! Oh, yeah!"

"The Rush?" Kim was bewildered. "I never heard of them. What do they play?"

"Arena football, Kim! It's all indoors, with special rules, . . . "

As Wade gushed on about his favorite team, Kim groaned, mentally. She had rather hoped that at least one person she knew was not a Chicago sports fan. _I wonder if Rufus likes soccer?_ she absently mused.

"Uh, well, that's nice, Wade. Keep me posted about the French feline if you learn anything, okay?"

Wade's praise of the Chicago Rush stopped, his expression shifted back to 'mission business mode,' and he said, "I'll let you know anything about La Chatonne as soon as I hear it."

"Spankin', Wade! Talk to you later. Bye!"

"Bye, Kim!" Wade's image vanished as Kim shut off the Kimunicator.

_**Simon**_** Testing Station, Monk's Cay**

The _Simon_ was about fifty feet long, and looked like a long cylinder with rounded ends, and bulging ballast tanks on both sides. A flat upper deck stretched almost the full length, with two hatches and a small metal frame over the head of the periscope, which was actually for surface running, Doctor Wimsey explained. "When the hatches are closed the pilot gets a television picture of what's around through that. It's shown on a screen in front of the pilot's station."

Doctor Patricia Harriet Wimsey was a short, slim woman in her early thirties. Since she was about the same size as Kim or Ron, the dark-haired scientist could easily move around in the cramped interior of the minisub. In fact, there was enough room for Kim, her father, Ron and Doctor Wimsey to get inside the control section of the _Simon_. The Doctor crouched in the small open space while Kim sat in the pilot's seat in front of the controls, Ron knelt in a small compartment forward of the control section, and James Possible sat toward the stern.

"Everything can be controlled from where you're sitting, Kimberly," the Doctor explained. "The ballast controls are to your left, and the _Simon_ is steered with this control yoke, just like an aircraft."

"This must be the depth gauge," Kim observed, "but what's this second one?"

"That's the fathometer," Patricia replied. "It tells you how far above the ocean bottom you are."

Kim pointed to another instrument. "Gyrocompass, right?"

"Correct. The radiophone and sonarphone are on that upper panel to your left."

"And there's a GPS, I see," Kim pointed at another panel as she spoke.

"Very good! Perhaps I should hire you as an operator." Doctor Wimsey pulled down a folding arm that had a handle much like a computer game joystick on it. "For underwater work, around a wreck, for example, this handle controls the water jets for close-in maneuvering."

"How long can it stay underwater, Doctor?" Ron asked from the circular door in the forward bulkhead.

"The power cell is good for a year, while there's equipment to scrub the CO2 from the air and get oxygen from seawater, so the _Simon_ can stay down almost indefinitely," Patricia answered. "So far the longest missions have lasted about twelve hours."

"Twelve hours?" Ron exclaimed. "But, what about food, and, um, ah, . . . "

"That compartment you're in has facilities for fixing meals, storage lockers for rations, and a trash bin."

Ron glanced around the small compartment, opened and closed two doors, and then lifted a folding seat.

"Oops!" Ron let the lid drop at once.

"And that's the chemical toilet," Doctor Wimsey added, with a grin. "Everything that the crew might find necessary." She pointed past Ron to a second circular door at the front of the small chamber. "Scientific equipment and observers go in the bow compartment, and . . . " She turned around to point past James Possible at the stern, " . . . the power cell, air scrubber, ballast pump and motor are located aft."

"And just one person can run the whole thing from right here? Spankin'," said Kim, happily.

"Patricia, I'm really impressed," said James. "This craft is a traveling, underwater research facility. You and your team should really be proud of it."

"We are," Doctor Wimsey replied. "Now, we can't all squeeze into the stern, but there's a spare power cell in the maintenance shed, so let's go ashore and I'll show you just what drives this thing, James."

As they reached the maintenance shed, Tim and Jim came trotting up, carrying their power-driven surfboards.

"What, didn't the sharks like the taste of you tweebs?" Kim remarked, but with a smile on her face at the same time.

"We just . . . "

" . . . outrun 'em," the twins answered, in their usual fashion.

"Well, come along, boys, Doctor Wimsey is going to show us a nuclear-electric power cell like the one in the _Simon_," said James. The twins immediately became very attentive.

"Atomic powered . . . "

" . . . surfboards? Yeah!" They exchanged a 'high-five,' and followed the others inside. A round, jug-like object about two gallons in volume sat on a support frame of heavy metal, in the middle of the room. Doctor Wimsey walked over to it.

"This has been in the minisub for six months," she explained. "We took it out and put in the spare last week, so this one can be checked for any signs of deterioration. It contains a small amount of a radioactive isotope, while most of the cell is a mechanism for drawing out the heat produced by nuclear fission as electricity. That powers the _Simon_ and any added equipment that's fitted for a particular research mission."

"Is it dangerous?" asked Kim. "It can't explode like an atomic bomb, can it?"

"Oh, no, it's not dangerous at all," the Doctor assured them. "You could shoot at it, pound it with a sledgehammer, or drop it five kilometers from an aircraft, and it would just soak up the shocks. Of course, if you deliberately set up a positive feedback circuit on the cell and let it build up for an hour or so, you'd destabilize it. Then you'd get a self-sustaining reaction that would lead to an explosive discharge. But it would be a pretty small explosion."

"How big . . ."

". . . would it be?" Jim and Tim asked, eagerly.

"If the power cell did become unstable, and explosively discharged," Doctor Wimsey replied, "it would vaporize the _Simon_ and everything in it, with a yield equal to roughly seven hundred tons of dynamite."

"Seven . . . hundred . . . _tons_ . . . of dynamite?" Ron's voice rose two octaves as he spoke.

"That's all," said Patricia, "just a big bang. Nothing to worry about, really."

"Hmmm. Suppose this reaction got started," James Possible asked, thoughtfully. "What could you do about it?"

"If the cell was in the _Simon_, we'd run the craft out to sea, over the underwater canyon that's just to the north of New Providence. Then the pilot would get out and we could scuttle the minisub. A spare cell like this one would just be taken out in the launch and dumped." Doctor Wimsey smiled. "With a thousand feet of water over it, there'd be no danger to anyone or anything."

_**Simon**_** Testing Station, Monk's Cay, Two Days Later**

Since Monk's Cay was private property it wasn't overloaded with tourists, and it was possible for Ron and Kim to stroll along the shoreline by themselves. It was a very pleasant evening, near sunset, and the two teens were quietly enjoying their own company, and making plans for the rest of the vacation trip.

"So, KP, what's up for tomorrow? Take a boat over to Nassau, lay back and marinate on the beach for the day?"

"So that you can look at all the girls on the beach who are wearing bikinis, right? Especially the ones playing volleyball?" Kim's reply to Ron was clearly meant in fun, but he missed a step and gulped before answering.

"Ahh . . . well . . . they're there, I mean, I can't just chase them away, can I?" Ron appealed to his pocket-riding pet. "That wouldn't be right, would it, Rufus?" The mole rat grinned at Ron in a way that clearly meant, _Get out of this one yourself, chum!_ and ducked back into Ron's pocket.

Kim chuckled. "Why look at other girls when you've got one right beside you?" she said, in a teasing tone of voice. Kim paused to pirouette in front of her partner and BFBF, showing off the halter-and-shorts outfit she was wearing.

Ron didn't answer immediately, but after admiring Kim's face and figure, he just stood and gazed at the setting sun, thinking furiously. Back in the old days, in this part of the world, pirates made people they didn't like walk the plank. Would Kim's father do that to him if Ron got too . . . cozy . . . with Kim? Ron dropped his eyes a bit and noticed the _Simon_ observation and control booth at the end of the pier. Just then Kim's voice broke in on Ron's thoughts.

"Ron, I think there's somebody in the control booth! I just saw something moving at the door," said Kim in her 'mission mode' voice. "Come on, we'd better check it out."

As they trotted down the path and then out along the pier, Ron asked, "Maybe somebody's working on the tracking gear or the radiophone, KP."

"Not likely, this late in the day, Ron. And if there was, they'd have the lights in the booth turned on."

The shore-side door of the booth was slightly open, but the inside of the small building was dark. Kim reached inside, flicked the switch and jumped back as the lights came on. Nobody came out. A quick look inside showed that the place was empty, and nobody was hiding in it. Looking around, they saw a note taped to a computer screen. Kim grabbed it and quickly read it.

"What does it say, KP?"

"It's addressed to me! It says, 'When you read this, Kim Possible, you will know that you have failed. I will either steal the _Simon_, or destroy it.' It's signed with a drawing of a cat!" Kim closed her fist around the note in anger before tossing it on the table. "La Chatonne!"

Ron took a quick look out the window, and saw the little submarine was still secured to the dock. "KP, the _Simon_ is still here!"

"Come on, Ron, maybe she's inside it!" Kim said, as she hurried out the door.

Moving stealthily they went down the gangway to the sub, where they saw that the _Simon_'s main hatch, usually closed, was open. A dim light shone inside, but no one could be seen, and there was no sound of movement. Kim dropped into the _Simon_, ready to fight, and scanned the limited space. Ron followed a moment later, and they quickly checked the interior of the tiny vessel.

"No sign of anybody . . . maybe we scared her off."

"I don't think so, Ron. We don't know when that note was written. La Chatonne might have been here for some time." Kim scowled in frustration as she moved aft toward the engine space. "Say, what's that smell?"

Ron sniffed the air. "Like something is burning . . . " Kim scrambled further aft for a closer look at the machinery space, where the smell seemed to be coming from.

"Ron, the power cell has been sabotaged!"

"What do you mean, KP?"

"There's some sort of a circuit board in the wiring. I think it's building up to that explosion Doctor Wimsey told us about!"

They were both silent for a moment as the words of Doctor Wimsey came back to them. If the power cell exploded, it would have "_a yield equal to roughly seven hundred tons of dynamite."_

"It'll flatten half of Nassau when it blows!" Ron cried. Kim shook her head in disagreement.

"It's not _that_ powerful. But it will level Monk's Cay down to the waterline. Mom, Dad, the tweebs, all the folks on the island . . . "

Kim nodded, as if she had come to a decision.

"Come on, Ron, let's get on deck and cast off the lines! Then we'll start the motor and head the _Simon_ out to sea. When it explodes out there it won't wreck the island."

"But what about us, if we're on the sub?"

"I'll lock the controls to take it out and dive," Kim answered. "Once that's been done we can jump off and swim back here. And when the _Simon_ is down in the submarine canyon, everybody will be safe."

On deck they quickly cast off all but one of the mooring lines. Then Kim handed the Kimunicator to Ron.

"Put this in the control booth, and leave Rufus to guard it, Ron. That way they'll be safe when we swim for it."

Ron raced back up the gangway and entered the booth. He parked the Kimunicator next to the telephone and put Rufus beside the device.

"Okay, Rufus, you keep this safe. KP and I'll be back before you know it!"

The naked mole rat snapped to attention, gave a salute with a front paw, and squeaked, "Okay!" Then Ron heard a splash outside, and a swishing sound, as if a boat had started moving. He jumped to the door of the booth and saw that the gangway to the _Simon _had fallen into the water and the mini-sub was pulling away from the dock, heading out to sea.

"KP? What are you doing? Wait for me!" Ron shouted, as a deadly idea popped into his mind.

Ron ran back into the control booth, grabbed the telephone and called Kim's parents. As soon as her father was on the line he blurted out, "The _Simon_ is going to explode! And Kim is taking it out to sea! You better get down here, right now!"

James Possible understood the need for haste in a research situation when things go wrong, and didn't waste any time asking questions. He told Ron to call the security office, yelled for Ann and the twins, and hung up. Ron immediately contacted security and reported the theft of the _Simon_. By the time the Possibles had reach the control booth, Doctor Wimsey and two guards were there as well. Ron explained what had happened, and showed them the note from La Chatonne.

Doctor Wimsey told the guards to check around the pier for any signs of sabotage or theft. Then she handed James a pair of light-amplifying binoculars and told him to locate the running lights on the top deck of the minisub, while she tried to contact Kim on the radiophone. She switched it on, picked up the handset and pushed down on the 'talk' button.

"Control calling _Simon_. Control calling _Simon_. Come in, _Simon_. Over," said Patricia. A moment later the speaker above the window crackled with a reply.

_"Simon to Control, I hear you loud and clear. Over." _It was Kim's voice, coolly professional as it had been on every mission Ron could remember.

"Control to _Simon_. What are you doing, Kimberly? Please state your intentions. Over."

Kim's reply came clearly from the speaker. _"Somebody set up a feedback circuit on the power cell, Doctor. The sort of thing you told us about, remember? I pulled the circuit off, but the cell is still getting hotter. I'm afraid it's become self-sustaining, and you know what that means. Over."_

"Control to _Simon_," Patricia answered. "Yes, I understand. If the cell keeps heating up then it's too late to keep it from exploding. We have to get rid of it, fast. Over."

Kim answered immediately. _"And the only way to get rid of it in time is to send the Simon_ _out to sea and then have it submerge. Over"_

"But there's no self-steering mechanism on the _Simon_," Doctor Wimsey protested. "And you can't make it dive by itself, Kimberly. Over."

Kim's voice in the radiophone stayed calm, but there was something chilling about her words. _"I know that, Doctor. There's not enough time to scuttle it, so somebody has to take this thing out to sea and then dive it. Over."_

Kim's father handed the light-amplifying binoculars to Patricia, took the radiophone handset and spoke into it in a firm, 'father-to-daughter' tone of voice.

"Kimmie-cub, this is your father speaking. Now, listen to me. Shut off the motor, get off that thing and swim for it. We'll come out in the motorboat and pick you up. Over." Kim's father's voice was flat calm, but he was obviously tense and worried.

_"I can't do that, Daddy. The power cell is making strange noises now, and if I shut off the motor I think it will blow up. And if I leave the Simon running without somebody at the helm, it could circle back to the island, or go into Nassau harbor. Over,"_ Kim's voice replied. Her mother took the radiophone.

"Kimmie, please, don't do this!" Ann momentarily forgot to release the 'talk' button, but then said, "Over," and did so.

_"Mom? Are you there, too? Over."_

"We're all here, Kim." Ann Possible had faced serious brain surgery operations with perfect calm, but now her voice quavered and her hands shook. "Me, your father, Tim and Jim. Come back to us, Kimmie, _please!_ Over."

_"Mom, are Ron and Rufus there? Could you put them on, please? Over."_

Kim's mother mutely handed the radiophone to Ron, who pressed the 'talk' button and spoke.

"I'm here, Kim; so's Rufus." Rufus leaned forward from his perch on Ron's shoulder, and made his squeaky noise of greeting at the radiophone. Ron added, "Over," and released the 'talk' button.

_"Okay. Listen, Ron, you take care of the Kimunicator for me, and Rufus, you take care of Ron. Got that? Over."_

Ron nodded, then he gulped and said, "Got it, KP. Over."

Silence. Then Kim's voice came out of the speaker again, no longer coolly professional, but warm and loving, in a formal way.

_"Listen, everybody. Mom, Daddy, Tim, Jim, Ron, and you too, Rufus: I - I love you all. Please, remember that."_

Ron groaned. He felt as if his heart was being squeezed by a giant fist, and his lungs were unable to get enough air for him. This couldn't be happening! It _had_ to be a nightmare. But he couldn't wake up. Kim's voice over the speaker gently continued.

_"Ron, please tell your parents that I'm very grateful that they let you be my friend, and my partner."_ She paused briefly, and then continued in her cool, professional voice again. _"I'm coming to the canyon now, so it's time to dive this thing. Hope I can get it deep enough in time," _she added. _"I'll have to sign off now, so, goodbye!" _There was a sharp click in the speaker.

"No, Kimmie, don't!" There was no answer to Ann's cry. Dr. Wimsey had been able to keep the minisub's running lights in view, but now she lowered the binoculars and turned to the others.

"The topside lights are gone, so the _Simon_ must have dived. The radio won't work, now. I'll try calling her on the sonarphone."

After several tries with the equipment, Doctor Wimsey shook her head.

"She must not have the sonarphone turned on. We depend on its beacon to give us the _Simon_'s position, so I have no way to track her."

"I know who can track her," muttered Ron. He picked up the Kimunicator, snapped it on and savagely punched the button to call Wade.

"Hey, Ron, how's the vacation trip -- " Ron cut Kim's techno-friend off in mid-sentence.

"Wade, the _Simon_ has been sabotaged and it's going to explode," Ron interrupted. "Kim started the motor, took it out to sea and dived it. Can you track the _Simon_? Hook in to the underwater warning system, maybe?"

Wade's expression and voice were both dubious.

"Ron, that Navy network is absolutely ultra-top secret! It's got layers of code words and encryption - "

"Kim is still in the _Simon_!" Ron yelled. "She's going down with it! Just do it, Wade!"

On the Kimunicator screen Wade's face registered shock and dismay as he understood what Ron's words meant. Instantly the young computer expert's fingers began moving over the keyboard in a flashing blur, to the buzz of clicking keys.

"Okay, I'm in! Here's the sonar scope picture, Ron." The Kimunicator's screen became a map of Monks' Cay and the sea to the north of it, out to the underwater canyon. "That moving dot in the middle is Kim's sub. There's a readout here, too, let's see . . . Wow! Going twelve knots and diving fast. She's 600 feet down and two miles out already."

On the screen the dot crawled steadily out into the undersea canyon, deeper and farther from shore with each minute. Ron's voice shook as he spoke into the Kimunicator.

"Talk to us, Wade! How is she doing?"

"She's down 900 feet and about two and a half miles from shore . . . going down fast, she must have it in a power-dive . . . a thousand feet down, now . . . say, what's the operating depth on this submarine, Ron?"

Patricia leaned near the Kimunicator to answer Wade's question.

"The maximum operating depth is 2,000 feet, but the hull can stand the pressure down to a depth of 3,000 feet. We tested that with a duplicate hull."

"So, at 3,000 feet she'll get her feet wet, right?" Ron's attempt at humor got a chilling reply from Wimsey.

"Oh, no! When you have a hull breach at that depth the water comes in so rapidly that it instantly compresses the air to outside pressure. The sudden increase in air pressure inside the hull generates a supersonic heat wave that incinerates everything . . . " Her voice faded as Patricia realized what she was saying to Kim's family and friends.

Over the Kimunicator Wade continued his comments.

"Twelve hundred feet down, still moving out . . . Ouch!" The dot on the screen flared to intense brightness and faded away. "I . . . I think that's it, Ron . . . she blew," said Wade, sadly.

"Kimmie!" wailed Kim's mother. Rufus burst into tears, and buried his little face in Ron's shirt collar.

"Look, out at sea!" cried Patricia. She pointed to where a large, dim light was glowing, under a cloud of grayish water droplets that had lifted off the surface, while a wave of disturbance was sweeping toward the shore. As the light faded a hill of water bulged upwards, and then burst into a wall of spray that spread out and gradually dropped back into the restless ocean.

"Wade, I can't see the dot for the sub any more," Ron asked, "what's wrong?"

"Its gone, Ron," Wade's voice was shaking and he sounded tearful. "The sub didn't collapse, or break up, it must have just . . . vaporized. There - there's nothing left of it, nothing at all."

Tim and Jim were wide-eyed, in silent shock. James Possible held Ann in his arms as they both wept. Ron shook his head in stunned disbelief.

"No . . . no . . . Kim can't be gone . . . she just _can't_ be . . . " Ron's voice trailed off as the little group stood in the control booth, staring through the window at the darkening sea.

**End of Part Two**

Historical Note: On February 7, 1943, in a night-time surface action, the U. S. Navy submarine _Growler_, Commander Howard W. Gilmore commanding, accidentally rammed the Japanese stores ship _Hayasaki_. Gunfire from the ship killed two members of the bridge watch and wounded several others, including Commander Gilmore. Gilmore ordered the rest of the watch to get below, but was unable to get down the conning tower hatch himself, and ordered the submarine to dive without waiting for him. His final command, shouted down the conning tower hatch to the ship's Executive Officer, was, "Take her down!" The _Growler_ survived and returned to port, but the bodies of Gilmore and the two men killed on the bridge were never recovered. For this unselfish action to save his ship and his crew, Gilmore was posthumously awarded the Medal of Honor.


	3. Chapter 3

The Claws of the Kitten

**The Claws of the Kitten**

**PART THREE - Still on Patrol**

****

Author's notes: Many thanks to those who have read and commented on Part Two: CajunBear73, CaptainDeadpool, Michael Howard, ScreamingPhoenix and Waveform. Speculation on where the story is going and what will happen is appreciated and encouraged.

Disclaimer: All characters, locations and situations drawn from the TV series _Kim Possible_ are the property of Disney. All other stuff in this story, and the plot, belong to me.

The Lazy C Ranch, Montana, The Next Day

Joss Possible was only five feet from the telephone when it rang, so she jumped to answer it, while shouting, "I've got the phone, Daddy!" She picked up the telephone handset, answered it, and at once heard a familiar voice.

"Howdy, this-here's the Lazy C Ranch. Oh, hi, Uncle Jim. Daddy? Sure, just hold on." Joss covered the mike end of the handset, and shouted again. "Daddy, telephone! It's Uncle Jim."

Turning back to the handset, Joss lowered her voice to 'normal' and asked, "Uncle Jim? When you get done talkin' to Daddy, could Cousin Kim talk to me for a couple o' minutes? Please?"

"Oh? Well, that's okay, I reckon. Oh, here's Daddy."

Taking the telephone handset from his daughter, 'Slim' Possible greeted his younger brother as he usually did. "Howdy, Squirt. What's the good word?" As he heard the answer, Slim's face lost its smile, and some of its color.

"No! Are you sure, Squirt? Couldn't she be - I see. Sure, I'll open the e-mail right away and read it. Yeah, I agree, we better not tell Nana just yet."

Joss watched and listened to her father's end of the conversation with a growing concern. She could tell when something was wrong, and now all the signs said 'Trouble' to her.

"Now, listen, Jim, if you need help with anything I'm ready to come to Middleton and give you a hand. Just say the word. How's she taking it? Yeah, just what you'd expect. Well, okay, Jim. I'll check the e-mail for your letter, and if I've got any questions I'll send 'em back, pronto. Okay. Goodbye Jim, and, I'm more sorry than I can say."

When Slim started calling his younger brother 'Jim' instead of 'Squirt,' Joss raised the sitch level from 'Trouble' to 'BIG TROUBLE!' Something really, really bad must have happened. Maybe, like what had happened to Joss's mother?

"Daddy? Is something wrong with Aunt Ann?" Joss suddenly noticed that tears were running down her father's checks. She'd only seen him cry twice before in her life, and to do it after a telephone call from Uncle Jim . . . "Daddy, what's wrong?! Tell me!"

Slim turned to his daughter, swallowed hard, and said, "Annie's okay, Joss. But, well, Kim ain't all right." He went down on his knees and took Joss in his arms. "You see, Joss, there was an accident at this oceanography place they're visiting. Somebody sabotaged the little submarine that they were testing, and there was an explosion."

"Was Cousin Kim hurt, Daddy? Is that it?" Joss felt as if a lump of ice had started growing in her stomach.

"No, Joss, she . . . she was inside the submarine when it exploded, an' now, she's . . . missing."

"Missing? Shucks, that's nothin', Kim's been missing before, but she always turns up again, Daddy."

"No, Joss. Kim was _in_ the explosion, and Jim says it looks like . . . she's dead."

"But, Daddy, you said she's 'missing!' How do they know . . . "

"The submarine was blown to bits, Joss, an' Kim went with it. Jim says she's . . . gone."

Joss Possible stared at her father for a full minute. Cousin Kim? Gone? _Dead?_

That couldn't happen, Kim Possible could handle any sitch, she always came home from a mission!

"But, Daddy, she just can't be dead, I mean, it's gotta be a mistake!"

"It's not a mistake, Joss. I'm afraid that your cousin Kim is gone for good."

**Joss Possible's Bedroom, One Hour Later**

Joss sat on her bed and gazed at the posters and pictures she had on the walls. Pictures and posters of her cousin, and idol, Kim Possible. Kim in her mission clothes . . . Kim with her sidekick Ron . . . Ron by himself, with Rufus sitting on his shoulder . . . Joss with Kim when she visited the Lazy C . . . dozens of pictures of her famous cousin. Joss knew each picture by heart, which was good, because her eyes were awash with tears. Missing. Blown to pieces. No more Kim Possible. The e-mail her father had received from Uncle Jim said that there was no hope of ever finding Kim's body . . . there would be nothing to bury, no way to have a place to mourn for Kim or remember her.

Joss wiped her eyes, blew her nose, got off her bed, and stood in front of a life-size picture of Kim, herself, Kim's sidekick Ron Stoppable and his pet naked mole rat. She gazed directly at the image of Kim in the picture, and then spoke in a very serious voice. "Cousin Kim, I want you to know that I'm gonna find the varmints who did this to you. If it takes me the rest of my life, I'll find 'em. And once I've found 'em, they'll be a long time diein', I promise you."

Then Joss looked up at the ceiling, but her eyes seemed to be focused on something several miles above her. "Momma, take care of Cousin Kim. Show her the ropes, up there, an' do what you can to make it easy for her." Joss closed her eyes and added, with great intensity, "_Please_, Momma! Help her all you can!"

**A Florida Retirement Community, Early July, Two Days Later**

After an e-mail and telephone exchange with Slim, James and Ann had decided to stop off in Florida on their way back to Middleton, to tell Kim's grandmother the bad news about Kim in person. Nana was surprisingly tough for her age, but the shock might be easier to bear if Kim's parents were there when she heard the news. At the same time, they wanted Nana to go to stay with Slim and Joss for a while, just to be sure someone would be close by if Nana had a delayed-reaction attack of grief and sorrow.

When the Possible family arrived at Nana Possible's home, they were prepared to have Kim's grandmother react with horror, shock, hysterics or fainting, in any combination, upon being told that Kim was dead. What they were not prepared for, however, was the reaction they got.

"James, I know that things look bad, but you can't give up on Kimberly just yet," said Nana. "That girl has more lives than sixteen cats, and if there was a way to get out of that pocket submarine, she'll have done it."

"Nana, we have to face the facts," Ann said sadly. "Kim was in the minisub. The minisub was vaporized. Kim _must _have been - "

"Don't you think it, Ann! My late husband always said that you can't consider a Possible as dead until you see their bleached bones lying in the sun. And even then, you're probably wrong." Nana regarded her daughter-in-law, her son and her two grandsons sternly, as if she was reprimanding a group of children for making too much noise at a family function.

"Well, will you go and stay with Slim and Joss for a couple of weeks, at least?" James finally asked. "Slim and I would feel better about it if you were with family for a time."

"Certainly. The way Joss idolizes Kim, she may need a shoulder to cry on for a bit. I can spend a month away from here if I have to." Nana looked thoughtful for a moment. "But I'd like to be back by September. I always sit in on the Labor Day Texas Hold 'Em poker tournament each year."

"Do you ever . . . " Jim began.

" . . . win anything, Grandma?" Tim finished.

"I do pretty well, boys." Nana leaned forward and dropped her voice into a 'confidential' tone. "There's always plenty of pigeons to pluck at the tables."

**The Stoppable Home, Middleton, Mid-July, Twelve Days Later**

"Oh. Hi, Ron." Wade seemed to be momentarily flustered at seeing Ron on the Kimunicator wavelength, but he recovered quickly.

"Hi, Wade. I was glad to hear that Doctor Wimsey was able to convince the Navy that she was responsible for your breaking into the Sonar Warning System. They might have locked you up forever!"

Wade nodded. "Yeah. I could have spent the rest of my life in one small room."

Ron grinned weakly. "So, how would that be different from the way you live now? Anyway, what I called about was this. I was just talking to Kim's folks on the phone. They can't hold a funeral for Kim, 'cause they haven't got something to bury, or a death certificate." Ron paused and Wade immediately asked, "Why is that, anyway?"

"The authorities in the Bahamas say there's no solid proof that anybody died, so they can't issue a certificate." Ron swallowed before he continued. "So, Kim's folks are going to have a gravestone made for Kim, and put it in the Middleton cemetery. Once it's in place they'll have a little prayer service, with the whole family and some of Kim's friends."

"Are you going, Ron?"

"Yeah, me and Rufus." Ron glanced at his mole rat friend, who was curled up in his little bed, but not asleep. Rufus was gazing at Ron with a melancholy expression, and clearly felt just as sad as did Ron. "I can take the Kimunicator along and turn it on so you can watch, if you like," Ron went on. To his surprise, Wade shook his head sharply.

"No! No, I won't do that, Ron. I can't." Ron was both surprised and hurt by Wade's curt refusal.

"You and Kim were good friends, Wade! How can you say - ?" Ron's question was cut short by Wade's answer.

"I want to be there in person, not just watch by Kimunicator."

"But, Wade, you hardly ever leave your computer room - " Ron protested, but again, Wade cut him off.

"I want to be there in person, Ron! Kim'd do the same for you or me, and I'll do that for her."

"Okay. Just call Kim's folks and ask," Ron replied. "I'm sure they'll be glad to have you come." For a few moments they were both silent.

"Its been two weeks, now, Ron," Wade said sadly.

"Fifteen days, actually," Ron remarked. They both knew what the other meant. Fifteen days since the _Simon_ — and Kim — had been vaporized.

"When you called, just now, I almost thought it'd be Kim calling me, when I answered the Kimunicator," Wade remarked, with a sad and sheepish grin.

"Yeah. Talking to Kim's mom I kept getting the feeling it was KP talking to me, and just changing her voice." Ron let his eyes unfocus, and though he was facing the Kimunicator screen he seemed to be looking at something a hundred yards away in the same direction. Wade looked back at Ron with growing concern.

"Ron? How are you managing?" Wade asked. "Are you getting enough sleep? You look a little tired."

"One day at a time, Wade. But I've had the same dream, three times, about being with Kim inside the _Simon_, and trying to talk her into bailing out . . . but she doesn't." Ron blinked a couple of times.

"I think I've got something in my eye, Wade. Talk to you later, okay?"

"Me too, Ron. Bye now."

After shutting off the Kimunicator, Ron leaned back in his desk chair and mentally gazed at his future. A lonely, empty future without Kim Possible in it. She'd been a part of Ron's life since their first day at Pre-School, and he'd come to believe that Kim would always be with him, but now she just wasn't there anymore. She wasn't _anywhere_. KP . . . just . . . wasn't . . . All that she had been to Ron, all that she was, and all that she might have been in the future, had been taken away.

"Oh, Kim! Why didn't you let me go with you?" Ron moaned. "Or let me take that sub out and dive it, instead of you?" Tears started running down his cheeks, but he made no effort to wipe them away. Rufus left his bed, scurried over to Ron and swarmed up his big pet and on to his shoulder. Then he stretched his forepaws around as much of Ron's neck as he could, and gently hugged him, while shedding some tears of his own.

**Someplace, Sometime**

Opening security-coded doors used to be thrilling for Professor Dementor, but this time it seemed almost dull. Somehow the fact that there was absolutely no chance that Kim Possible would show up to foil his plans took away much of the fun. Of course, the Quarklet Stabilizer would be very useful to him. This time he might well take over the world, or at least a reasonable portion of it. And, since with this device he would be better set to succeed than ever before, it was time to execute the classic evolution of 'grab it and get out of Dresden!' Followed by his six henchmen Dementor crossed the laboratory to the armor-glass dome over the device. A simple application of his computerized code-changing equipment and the dome was lifted off by two henchmen.

As he gazed at the Quarklet Stabilizer with a fiendishly-pleased expression, Dementor was suddenly interrupted by a female figure clad in black that dropped out of the shadows twenty feet overhead! A rope stopped the figure's fall barely inches above the device, which she snatched away from his outstretched hands. Then the rope contracted, the figure twisted, flipped over Dementor's head, and landed on her feet behind the very surprised mad scientist.

"'Merci beaucoup, M'sieur," the figure said, with an insousant bow. She turned to leave, only to be surrounded by the six henchmen. At once the black-clad figure fell into a combat posture, ready for some serious bone breakage. Somebody _else's _bones, and not hers.

"Just hand it over, Fraulein, and you may leave unhurt," said Dementor. "I want that device, and I mean to have it!"

The main lights of the laboratory snapped on, while the side doors all swung open and four or five tough-looking men came in from each door. Professor Dementor could see that each of the new arrivals was armed with a Thompson submachine gun, which was pointing directly at him and his henchmen. A moment later a heavy-set, scar-faced man in a perfectly-tailored suit came in, and walked over to the group of gunmen.

"Herr Albert K. Trazz, I presume," Dementor said through gritted teeth.

"Call me 'Big Al,' Dementor," Trazz growled. "Just take your boys and back off! That gadget is mine, now. If you want it, you've gotta pay big money for it."

"How much do you want?" Dementor inquired, testily.

"Oh, I'd say, about . . . a million."

"WHAT!? That's_ five times _what it would go for on Evil-Bay!"

"You want it, you gotta pay for it," Trazz said sharply. "If you don't wanna pay, do without, Kraut."

After a tense moment, Professor Dementor ordered his henchmen to leave quietly. As they filed out, Al Trazz walked up to the cat burglar and took the Quarklet Stabilizer from her. "Thanks, Kitten," he said. "You do good work."

"So, La Chattone is working for you, now? Interesting," Dementor observed. "I understood that you didn't have any females in your organization of minor criminals."

"She's the first one. She's a full member of 'The Mob,' now," Al Trazz replied. "I like her style, and besides, she did me a real big favor by eliminating a possible problem for me." He grinned as if there was some joke hidden in his words.

Chuckling, Al Trazz left the room, with La Chatonne following him. The machine-gun armed thugs smoothly withdrew as silently as they had come. Finally, Professor Dementor made a violent statement in German, and stalked out of the laboratory, muttering, "This sort of thing _never_ happened to Otto von Bismarck!"

**The Possible Home, Middleton, Late July**

"Tim! Jim! _Where_ do you think _you_ are going?!" Ann Possible spoke sharply, and her twin sons looked around from the steps up to Kim's loft room with guilty expressions. Ann strode over to the foot of the steps and regarded the boys very sternly.

"Boys, you know that I don't want _anything_ taken from Kimmie's room, and nothing in it is to be disturbed!" She gazed at both of her sons intently as she spoke. "If you take anything from Kim's room, she won't like it. And neither will I."

The two boys choked up, and looked almost ready to cry. With difficulty, Tim said, "We weren't going to take anything, Mom, honest!" Jim held up a polished piece of wood that had some words and a color picture on it, all coated with a clear protective layer, and said, "We just wanted to put this in Kim's room."

The picture showed Kim, in her mission clothes, looking proud, self-assured, and ready to take on the world. Above the picture were the words, 'Kim Possible, our big sister.' Below the picture were the words, 'We miss you, Kim. The Tweebs.'

"Oh, boys . . . " Ann bit her lip for a moment to hold on to her composure. "Come on, we'll all go up and you can leave it on her bed."

They went up the steps to the room, which was filled with things that reminded them of the missing girl. Tim and Jim walked up to the bed, and with both holding on to it, gently placed the plaque on the bed so that the pillow propped it up. For almost a minute they stood there, gazing at the plaque, then turned back to their mother, and all three quietly left the room.

At the foot of the stairs, Ann went down on her knees and put her arms around her sons.

"That was very kind of you, boys. I'm . . . sorry . . . I . . . shouted . . . " Her voice choked off for moment, and then burst out again. "Oh, Kimmie!" Ann broke down, while Tim and Jim clung to her and cried. For several minutes mother and sons simply held each other, and mourned for the one who had meant so much in their lives, but was no longer there.

**End of Part Three**

Historical Note: To the officers and men of the U. S. Navy's submarine service, U. S. submarines and their crews that never returned during World War Two are regarded as "Still on patrol."


	4. Chapter 4

The Claws of the Kitten

**The Claws of the Kitten**

**PART FOUR - No Peace for the Wicked**

****

Author's notes: Many thanks to those who have read and commented on Part Three: CajunBear73, Captain Deadpool, Michael Howard, Muzzlehatch, screaming phoenix, Soth11 and waveform. Speculation on where the story is going and what will happen is appreciated and encouraged.

The Possible Home, Middleton, Two days later

When James Possible came home that evening, his wife saw that he was both angry and puzzled. She gave him a hug & kiss, as usual, and asked the obvious question.

"What's the matter, James? Did something go wrong at the Space Center?"

"No, everything's fine at the Center. But I got a phone call from the Middleton Monument Company. They finished the memorial stone for Kim, - " His voice broke for a moment. "But, last night, somebody got into their storage building and ruined it."

"That's awful! Who could be so cruel?" Ann shared her husband's dislike of random vandalism, and for somebody to ruin Kim's gravestone, even before it was placed in the cemetery, was disgusting.

"I went over to see the damage. It looks like somebody used a laser to erase the dates from the stone," James explained. "They said that they'd carve a replacement stone for us, at no charge. And take special care of it to prevent this happening again."

James Possible rubbed his chin in a thoughtful way. "I can't imagine why anybody would do something like this, Ann. It's almost as if the vandal wanted to delay our holding the prayer service for Kim."

Ann put her arms around her husband and gave him a comforting hug. "It doesn't matter, darling. It might have been done by a senseless vandal or someone who hated our daughter. Either way, they can't ruin our memories of Kimberly Ann. Those will always be clear and perfect in our minds."

**Wade's Computer Room, The Load Home, Middleton, the Next Day**

Wade adjusted the fit of his telephone earpiece and microphone, and punched in a number. _This would be easier if we could use the Kimunicator_, he thought, _but Ron has that now. Oh, well._ When he got his party on the line he turned his eyes back to his main computer screen and put his hands on the keyboard.

"I think I've got something for you . . . yeah, five of them. Señor Senior Senior, Dr. Drakken, Professor Dementor, Duff Killigan and Monkey Fist are meeting tomorrow. It looks like a strategy session of some kind. I've got a ride all set if you want to go . . . okay! I'll FAX you the details, the pickup point and what to expect." Wade paused and listened to the person on the other end of the connection. "No, nothing solid about La Chatonne yet, just reports of robberies she's blamed for. Right, I'll keep looking for information on her, and the others."

Wade broke the connection and turned to his FAX machine. This was one mission he rather wished he was going on. _Well, if it doesn't pan out, maybe I can go on the next one._

**Meeting Room, Rent-A-Lair Number 42, [Location Top Secret], the Next Evening**

Señor Senior Senior checked the list of who was supposed to be at this special meeting. Everyone was present, so he called the meeting to order.

"Shall we begin, gentlemen? First, there is the question of just who arranged the explosion that destroyed Miss Kim Possible. If I was in any way responsible for it, I would admit it freely." He gave a sigh. "But honesty compels me to state that I had no hand in the matter. Can any of you cast some light upon the situation?"

"Twas none o' ma doing," Duff Killigan growled. "I'd face the girl down, or lure her into a trap, but to trick her into choosin' suicide, nay."

"Such a death brings much honor to the one who dies, but the killer gains nothing," said Monkey Fist. "I had nothing to do with it."

"It was a treacherous, dirty business," Professor Dementor remarked. "I did not arrange the sabotage of the U-boat."

"Kim Possible . . . really was all that," Dr. Drakken observed. "And her passing was not of my doing."

"Very well, gentlemen," said Señor Senior Senior. "Our second item to consider is this: If we accept the fact that Kim Possible is no more, then we will have to find a way to deal with Mr. Albert K. Trazz on our own. I believe that we can agree that Mr. Trazz has become a major annoyance to us all, correct?"

Professor Dementor spoke up at once. "Ach! While he concentrated on organizing petty criminals and taking over minor gangs he was no bother, but now the schweinhund is extending his activities into my area of operations."

"That upstart gangster is more trouble than Kim Possible ever was," Monkey Fist growled. "All she did was obstruct my plans. She never ordered me around, or demanded a pay-off of 40% of my profits." He shook his head. "What profits? My goal is power, not profit!"

Duff Killigan agreed. "Aye. Kim Possible was a polite and courteous lassie at all times, even when she was foilin' ma latest scheme. She was nay such a bother as Big Al."

"Villainy used to be fun," Professor Dementor remarked, gloomily, "before Al Trazz came on the scene."

"I agree," said Señor Senior Senior. "That man has ignored every rule and principle of decent super-villainy. He is an ill-bred social-climbing lout who has definitely crossed the line."

"I never thought I'd ever miss Kim Possible," Dr. Drakken sighed, "but now, I almost wish that annoying cheerleader was still around."

Monkey Fist nodded in agreement. "It seems likely that she would have kept Mr. Trazz too busy to interfere with any of us for a while."

"Now, Drakken, you know the saying," Professor Dementor chided. "'Be careful what you wish for; you just might get it.'" Dr. Drakken turned in his chair to answer Professor Dementor, but before he could speak, the meeting suffered a violent interruption.

The door of the meeting room was suddenly shattered with a sharp, explosive CRACK!, falling in a mass of dust and small pieces that spread out over the floor. At the same instant the wall lights failed, leaving only the chandelier over the table still lit. As the dust settled a red-haired female figure in a blue-trimmed white battlesuit could be seen, back-lighted in the doorway.

Monkey Fist rose from his chair and stared at the ominous figure. "What? It . . . it's . . . "

In astonishment, Señor Senior Senior said, "Kim - Possible - ?"

Professor Dementor shook his head, trying to deny what his senses were telling him. "Nein! It cannot be! It - it's unmöglich!"

Dr. Drakken shrank back in his chair in fright, his mind on the edge of madness. "But - but she - she's _dead!_"

Duff Killigan cowered behind the back of his chair, and managed to say what they were all thinking. "It's her ghost, come back to wreak vengeance on us! We're all doomed!"

The figure stalked into the room, and as she drew near, Monkey Fist, Killigan and Dementor shifted around the table until they were all clustered in a group behind Señor Senior Senior, who still sat in his chair. Nobody ran, but nobody really wanted to be too close to this ominous intruder. Dr. Drakken also stayed in his chair, too frightened to move. The figure came to the table, stopped, and spoke in a cold, deliberate manner.

"Who did it? Which one of you is responsible for the death of my daughter?!" She leaned forward into the light, and they all saw that their initial identification had been wrong.

Monkey Fist was the first to find his voice. "It's not Kim Possible," he sighed in relief, "it's just her mother." Fist relaxed for moment, but then a look of sheer terror spread across his face and his voice went up two octaves. "It's her mother! Oh, my god!"

Señor Senior Senior rose to his feet, bowed, and spoke with a quiet sincerity. "Madame Possible, as a parent I can appreciate your grief at the loss of your daughter. Please, accept my deepest sympathy. Kim Possible was a very remarkable young woman."

Having regained some of his composure, Duff Killigan agreed. "Aye. She had courage and skill, I'll give the lassie that."

Professor Dementor grudgingly added, "Truly, a formidable adversary."

"Save your crocodile tears!" Ann's fist hit the table with a crash. "None of you were fit to carry Kim's schoolbooks, let alone give her praise!" She glared around the table, and then pointed at Dr. Drakken. "Drew Lipski! Did you do it?! You couldn't defeat Kim in an open fight, so you set up a situation that would make her commit suicide, instead, didn't you." As Ann moved in on him, Drakken shrank back in his chair a bit more than was humanly possible. "Did you do it yourself, or did your lady-friend Shego do the dirty work for you? Did you laugh when you heard she was dead?!" Ann's right hand shot out toward Dr. Drakken, and the glove morphed into a loop of metal that circled his neck. "ANSWER ME!" Ann shouted, shaking Drakken so that he rattled in his chair like a pebble in a tin cup. "Tell me you did it, so I can snap your neck, and let Kim be at peace!" Everyone in the room cringed at the force of her fury.

Señor Senior Senior made a 'calming' gesture, and spoke again. "Madame Possible, please, Dr. Drakken had nothing to do with the matter. None of us here did." There was a series of nods and words of agreement from the others, while Drakken just stared in horror at the angry woman who literally held his life in her hand. Then she released him and gazed at the others.

"If any of you knows anything, if someone has something to tell me, I want to hear it _now!_" It was clear to all the villains that Ann Possible definitely had blood in her eye, murder on her mind, and the 'anger' meter on her emotions was off-scale at the maximum end. She was as dangerous as an armed nuclear bomb.

The denials of having any part in the _Simon_ affair were repeated by all. Then, like a schoolchild asking his teacher for permission to speak, Professor Dementor raised a hand. "Gnädige Frau Possible . . . there is something you may vish to know." Ann Possible snapped around to face him.

"What is it?!" She took a step toward Dementor and tensed, as if she was about to attack someone or something. All that was needed was for the target to appear, and then 'collateral damage' to anyone or anything in the neighborhood would not even be mentioned, let alone allowed for.

Dementor quickly related his attempt to steal the Quarklet Stabiliser, and how it was interrupted, first by La Chatonne, and then by Al Trazz. "He walked in with a score of his men, each of whom carried a Thompson Maschinenpistole."

"Shockingly old-fashioned weapons," Monkey Fist muttered. This earned him a brief glare from Ann, and he relapsed into silence.

"Trazz told me if I wanted the device I would have to pay him about five times what it is worth." Dementor gritted his teeth in frustration before he continued. "He also said that La Chatonne was now a member of his organization."

"Professor, I believe that I have heard that Mr. Trazz does not allow any female criminals in his inner circle," said Señor Senior Senior. "He considers women to be suitable only for the position of 'gun moll,' as he calls it."

"That's just what I asked him," Dementor went on. "But Trazz told me that he permitted La Chatonne to be a full member of his organization because she had eliminated a possible problem for him. Please note those words, Madame: a 'possible' problem."

"When tha wee submarine was stolen wasn't there a note left behind, that was signed with a drawing of a cat?" Duff Killigan timidly asked.

Ann Possible slowly nodded. "There was. I saw it. A drawing of a small cat." Her voice became thoughtful.

"In French, 'la chatonne' means 'the female kitten,'" said Señor Senior Senior. "Perhaps La Chatonne is the one who sabotaged the _Simon_, in order to gain admittance to Mr. Trazz's organization."

"By murdering my daughter!" The fury was back in Ann Possible's voice She scanned the group of villains again, with a look that held retribution and worse for whoever she chose as her target. "Where do I find her? Does anyone know?"

"All her operations during the past two years have been in North America and Europe, but where she lives is something nobody seems to know," said Señor Senior Senior. "No one knows just what she looks like under her mask, but there are rumors that she has a prominent scar on her forehead."

Ann gave a quick nod. "I'll accept that — for now. But if _any_ of you find out where this La Chatonne lives, or where I can find her, you will notify me _at once!_ And then, you will leave her to _me!_ Is - that - clear?!" She scanned the group again, looking directly at each one as she spoke. What they all saw in Ann's eyes made everyone's blood run cold.

There was universal agreement in the affirmative replies. No one in the room wanted this furious, red-haired woman to have cause to attack them. Even Monkey Fist was anxious to avoid a confrontation with her, since, for the first time in his life, he felt that this was an opponent he might not be able to defeat. Ann Possible gave each of the villains a fixed, piercing glare, turned about, trotted out through the shattered door and was gone.

"When that woman finds La Chatonne, it might be wise to be far away from the place ourselves," Monkey Fist observed. "The meeting _could_ be very . . . unpleasant."

**The Possible Home, Middleton, the Next Day**

Ann Possible carefully hung Kim's special battlesuit back in its hidden storage locker, closed and locked the door. She stepped out of Kim's closet, went over to Kim's dressing table and picked up a picture of herself, her husband, and Kim. She looked at it, then hugged the picture to herself and closed her eyes in pain. _Kimberly Ann, my child, so beautiful, caring, brave, loving and wonderful,_ Ann thought. _Seventeen years and then . . . gone! Nothing left, not even something to bury._ Ann opened her eyes and gazed intently at the picture. _Wherever she is, I'll find this 'La Chatonne,' Kimmie. And if she truly is responsible for what happened to you, once I find her I'll send her to you, so that she can apologize in person for what she did._

Ann put the framed picture down on the dressing table, and raised her eyes. As she did, she saw the reflection of a black-clad figure in an all-over hooded shape suit and feline facemask in the mirror. She spun around in amazement to confront the stranger.

"Who are you? What do you want?" Ann tensed for a leap at this intruder in her home.

The black-clad figure spoke partly in French. "Je m'appelle La Chatonne, Madame Possible. I have come for you!" As she spoke, she raised a handgun that had a wide, tube-like muzzle. With a cry of anger, Ann Possible leaped forward at the figure, who triggered her weapon at the same instant. There was a muffled cough, Ann gasped, and dropped into darkness with a fading moan.

**[End of Part Four]**

"schweinhund" is German for "pig-hound" - it is _not_ a compliment

"nein" is German for "no"

"unmöglich" is German for "impossible"

"Gnädige Frau" is German for "gracious lady"

"Maschinenpistole" is German for "submachinegun"

"Je m'appelle La Chatonne, Madame Possible" is French for "I am 'The Kitten,' Mrs. Possible"


	5. Chapter 5

**The Claws of the Kitten**

**PART FIVE - The Third Option**

****

Author's notes: Many thanks to those who have read and commented on Part Four: CajunBear73, Captain Deadpool, Michael Howard, Muzzlehatch, screaming phoenix, The Gandhara and waveform. Speculation on where the story is going and what will happen is appreciated and encouraged.

A Secret Location, Sometime Later

As her awareness slowly returned, Ann Possible vaguely wondered if she was alive or dead. _Which one do I want most? Well, if I'm alive, then I can find that 'La Chatonne' and deal with her,_ she thought. _But if I'm dead, then I should get to see Kimmie again. Hmmm . . . this is definitely a win-win situation._

Opening her eyes, Ann realized that she was lying on a bed in a small bedroom that looked both efficient and comfortable. A slim woman of medium height, wearing a purple uniform of some sort, was sitting at a chair at a small table, but watching Ann carefully with her left eye. Her right eye was covered by a trim eye patch. As Ann's eyes focused on this person, the woman rose from her chair, came over to the bed, and spoke.

"Dr. Ann Possible, welcome to the headquarters of the Global Justice Network. I am Dr. Elizabeth Director, the chief executive officer of Global Justice, and these are my private quarters. Your daughter, Kimberly Ann Possible, worked with us on several occasions."

"Oh, yes, Kim told me something about you." Ann sat up, and then swung her feet to the floor. "I'd like to know why I'm here, and how I got here," she went on. "The last thing I can remember is being shot at by a cat burglar named La Chatonne, after she broke into my home."

Dr. Director nodded. "I know. You were brought here by an agent so that I could inform you of certain facts, and request your co-operation."

"Oh? Did your agent rescue me from La Chatonne?"

"Not exactly. I'll explain everything, but first, there is someone here you need to meet. One moment, please." Dr. Director looked across the room to a door that was closed, and called out, "You may come in, now."

The door opened and the black-clad figure of La Chatonne walked in. Ann Possible rose from the bed and stepped forward to face the figure in its feline face-mask. She clenched her fists and tensed, as if she was about to attack La Chatonne with her bare hands, and snarled, **"You!"**

Dr. Director stepped between the two and raised a hand toward Ann in a restraining gesture. "No violence, please."

In a bitter, angry voice, Ann said, "That's La Chatonne! She invaded my home! She sabotaged the _Simon_! She's the reason Kimmie had to sacrifice her life!" Ann tried to push past Dr. Director, shook her fist and shouted at the black-clad figure.

"You killed my daughter!"

"I **am** your daughter!" La Chatonne pulled off her mask and hood, and tossed them onto the table. This revealed a full head of auburn hair, and a face that Ann knew as well as she knew her own: it was the face of Kim Possible . . . with a couple of modifications.

Ann was momentarily speechless in stunned disbelief, and when she found her voice again it stuttered.

"Ki - Kimmie? Is - is it - really - you?"

"Yes, Mom, it's really me." It was Kim's voice — a voice that Ann had ached to hear again for the past five weeks.

"But, your cheeks are rounded . . . and that scar on your forehead . . . "

"Products of the Global Justice Special Effects Department," said Dr. Director, but Ann hardly noticed.

"Wait a minute." _I have to be sure, _Ann cautioned herself, _she could be just a double. _"What do you call your brothers?" she asked.

"The tweebs. Oh, Mom, how are they and Daddy taking it? I mean, thinking that I'm - "

"What's your favorite Cuddle Buddy?" Ann continued.

"Pandaroo." Kim's lips and voice both quivered. "It's _me_, Mom! Don't you know me?"

Ann slowly shook her head. "No . . . you're a double . . . " She shivered as she spoke. "You could be an android made to look like Kim, a clone, or a hologram . . . you're just a clever double. Kimmie's dead."

"Dr. Possible, please believe me: this _is_ your daughter!" said Dr. Director. "That scar is false, and there are special pads inside her cheeks." Ann's mind was spinning, trying to accept what she heard and saw, and rejecting it at the same time, in fear of disappointment. _This certainly looks like Kim __— __but she's got rounded cheeks and an old scar on her forehead __— it's Kim's voice, and she knows things that Kim would know — but a well-briefed double could fake Kim's voice, and know those things, too — I want this to be true! — if this is a trick I won't be able to stand it — oh, God, please let this be true!_

"Test me. Ask me anything you want!" There was a touch of desperation in Kim's voice.

"What did you do, a month after your second birthday?" Ann asked. "And where did you do it?"

"Oh, Mom, not that, please!" Kim flinched at the thought of . . . that.

"Answer me!"

"Well . . . you and Daddy went on a ski trip, and took me along . . . "

"Yes?" Ann asked, sharply. "Go on!"

"And . . . I . . . " Kim hesitated, and then spoke as if it took a distinct effort to say each word. "Took. Off. All. My. Clothes. In. The. Middle. Of. The. Lodge." Her face was almost as red as her hair.

Ann stepped forward and took Kim in her arms. She was solid, not an insubstantial holographic image. The smell, feel and that certain 'something' that lets a mother know her children, convinced her. This _was_ Kim! The daughter she had lost had been returned to her! A painful void that had been in her spirit since the Bahamas vanished, while Kim and Ann both wept the tears of relief and joy.

"Oh, Kimmie, darling, you're alive, thank God, you're alive, it's wonderful - "

"I wanted all of you to know, Mom. You, Daddy, the tweebs, and Ron - "

"As I told you at the start, Kim, you would only be safe on this operation if everyone who truly cared for you believed that you were dead," said Dr. Director. Both mother and daughter did not hear the words. The joy of reunion filled their consciousness, excluding everything else. Finally, after mutual use of many facial tissues to wipe away tears and blow noses, all three sat down at the small table in the room.

Kim was the first to speak. "Mom, I know it must have been rough for all of you, believing I was dead. It wasn't easy for me, either, not being able to talk to any of you. Tell me, has it been . . . bad?"

Ann smiled sadly. "It's been hard, Kimmie, but we're all holding up. James has concentrated on a couple of projects at the Center, to avoid thinking about losing you. But he's had a couple of bad dreams, where he hears your voice calling him, and he gets out of bed and goes searching through the house, trying to find you. At work his colleagues quietly check everything he does, just in case of mistakes. I'm off the operations schedule until September, and the twins are so well-behaved it's almost frightening." Ann gave a wry smile. "Last week I stopped them from going up to your room, and reminded them that I didn't want anything in your room disturbed."

"Oh, Mom, that was sweet of you - "

"Wait, Kimmie, there's more," said Ann. Then she described the memorial plaque Tim and Jim had made, and how they put it on Kim's bed. When her mother had finished, Kim was unable to speak for a moment.

"Those wonderful tweebs . . . " She cleared her throat. "How about Ron and Rufus?"

"We're in touch, but when Ron drops in, I can tell that he's hoping he'll see you walk into the room at any time. He keeps looking around as if he expects to see you standing behind him." Ann's eyes clouded with a look of pain at the memories. "Ron wants to visit us, to be someplace where you've been, but it hurts him when he does. Rufus acts pretty listless, too. They were at the house two days ago, and Monique has been by several times."

Kim, Ann and Dr. Director were all silent for a bit. Then Ann shook herself, as though she was discarding the past and getting a fresh grip on her life and the world again, and faced Kim in a 'mother-to-daughter' mode. She spoke in a voice and manner that Kim knew well.

"Kimberly Ann Possible, you'd better have a _very_ good explanation for all of this!"

"I believe I can explain it better than Kim, for she doesn't know some of the details," said Dr. Director. "I'll give you the whole story, as it has happened."

Ann gazed at Dr. Director with an expression that clearly said, _This had better be very, very good!,_ and then nodded. "Proceed."

Dr. Director began, "Well, it all started about three years ago . . . "

The primary aim of Global Justice is to deal with the major threats to world peace and public safety: the mad scientists such as Dr. Drakken and Professor Dementor, international terrorists and loose cannons such as DNAmy and Monkey Fist. Minor criminals are left to be handled by local law enforcement groups, or national forces, such as the F. B. I, the French Sûreté nationale and Scotland Yard. But three years earlier something new had appeared on the horizon, in the form of an organized crime boss named Albert K. Trazz who had plans to gain power over all non-major crime, worldwide. His idea was to let people like Señor Senior Senior keep the international police groups busy, while Trazz got all the lesser fish in the sea of crime to swim at his command. Loan sharks, illegal gambling, auto theft, blackmailing, extortion, 'protection,' and any similar crimes would be his field of operations, worldwide. Every place that there was a tax on alcohol, and illegal stills were running, the operators would either pay Al Trazz a percentage of their profits or get shut down, either by local police, who would be tipped off as to where the stills were located, or by Al's men, who would destroy the still.

"He sounds like one of those old-time gangster bosses from the 1920s," Ann remarked.

Dr. Director nodded in agreement. "For his lifestyle Al Trazz follows the pattern of the great crime bosses of the 1920s. His personal idol is the late Al Capone, and he copies Capone's crime style and methods almost to the point of caricature."

Just as Capone had 'rubbed out' those who opposed him, Al Trazz had no qualms about making those who did not want to join his 'Mob' as junior members simply disappear. Several gangster bosses had already either submitted to Al Trazz's overlordship or just vanished, including 'Bullets' Durgham, 'Creepy' Nussman, Zikko the Nose, and 'Big Noise' Winnetka, to name just four in North America.

Only a select few members of Al's 'Mob' were allowed to know where the main headquarters was located, let alone get inside it, and this was something Global Justice had been working on ever since Al began his expansion program. A number of GJ double agents were already in place in the outer circles of the 'Mob,' but so far none had gained a place inside the elite group.

One of Global Justice's best agents was a young woman whose grandmother had been a renowned and notorious cat burglar known as 'La Chatte,' in Paris some fifty years earlier. GJ created the persona of 'La Chatonne' for this agent, who was supposedly following in her grandmother's footsteps, in an effort to get the agent into Al's inner circle and make it possible for GJ to raid his headquarters. Several spectacular 'crimes' were set up for La Chatonne to commit, so that Al would know about her. On two occasions Kim and Ron had tangled with La Chatonne, in order to make it clear that the cat burglar was not Kim in disguise, for Big Al had heard about Team Possible, although they had never interfered with his operations.

"I knew about those two operations in advance," Kim explained, "so that La Chatonne and I could make everything look good. But Ron, Wade and Rufus didn't know that I knew."

Then, in early June, the GJ agent had been injured while on a regular assignment, and someone to fill in for her was needed in a hurry. Dr. Director had asked Kim to take the job, and she agreed to do it.

"Our agent has red hair, and she very closely matches Kim in size, build and athletic ability. La Chatonne was always masked, supposedly to cover an old scar on her forehead. This made the substitution fairly simple," Dr. Director explained. "All we had to do was make Kim's cheeks more rounded out and give her that scar on the forehead."

"GJ had another operation for La Chatonne all planned and ready, so I just stepped in," said Kim. "I took a Czarist Russian Easter egg from a private museum." Kim's explanation was promptly interupted by her mother.

"Kimmie! You _stole_ something? You commited a crime?" Ann was astonished at such behavior by her usually well-behaved and law-abiding daughter.

"I didn't want to, Mom, but it was part of the plan," Kim explained, in an apologetic tone.

Dr. Director promptly came to Kim's rescue, and assured Ann that the Easter Egg that had been 'stolen' was safely in storage at Global Justice Headquarters, along with all the other things La Chatonne had taken. They would be returned, with full restitution for any damages, once the operation was completed.

Then, three days after the Easter Egg 'theft,' Al Trazz sent La Chatonne a message that he wanted to meet her personally, at a subsidiary hideout. Kim went, as La Chatonne, met Big Al and quickly learned some very distressing information.

*****

Al Trazz faced La Chatonne across a small table in a small room. Nobody else was present, but Big Al's bodyguards had the remote location surrounded and guarded. He leaned back in his chair. "You'd like to join 'The Mob,' right?" Al asked.

"Oui, M'seur."

"You've heard about a couple of busybodies called 'Team Possible,' haven't you?"

La Chatonne nodded. "Oui. They have interrupted two operations of mine. The leader is called Kim Possible."

"That's right." Al Trazz frowned and went on. "This Team Possible hasn't bothered me yet, but in a year or two they might be a problem." He leaned back in his chair again. "Kim Possible keeps gettin' in your way, right?"

"Oui, M'seur."

"Well, Kitten, if you really want to join 'The Mob,' you just kill her, and you're in."

"I don't do murder, M'seur. I am a thief, not an assassin."

"Oh? I've heard that your family wasn't always so particular," Al grinned. "Back in World War Two, wasn't it?"

"My great-grandparents were members of la Résistance! They killed la Boche, to drive them out of France."

The mobster simply shrugged. "Okay, if you don't want to do it, I can just put out the woid that I'll pay fifty Grand in U. S. dollars to anyone who sends Kim Possible to the morgue."

"One moment," said La Chatonne. "May I have a few days to see if I can meet your request? I will have to see how the task might be done."

"Sure, take a few days, Kitten. You can shoot her, stab her, whatever you like. Blow up her house with the whole family in it if you want," Al answered. "No loose ends, no witnesses. I like it that way. But I need an answer in a week, see?"

"You will have your answer within a week, M'seur Trazz. Is there anything else . . . ?"

"Nah, go see if you can knock her off, let me know what you think, an' we'll talk again, okay?"

"Oui, M'seur," the cat burglar said as she stood up. "I will contact you in due course. Until then, au revoir." She turned and trotted out the door.

*****

"You mean that this gangster wanted Kimmie to be killed, as - as an initiation test?!" Ann was incredulous. "That . . . that's _barbaric_!"

Dr. Director shrugged. "No, that's Al. He believes in eliminating potential enemies before they can give him trouble. And he's totally indifferent to bystanders getting hurt when such an assassination takes place. If you, your husband or either of your sons — or all four of you, for that matter — happened to get in the way, Mr. Trazz wouldn't mind a bit, so long as Kim was killed." She frowned in disgust for a moment.

"I reported all this to Dr. Director," said Kim, "and we tried to find a way to handle the sitch."

*****

"That was very quick thinking, Kim, and you did the right thing," said Dr. Director. "It gives us several days to work out a course of action, and to make preparations."

"Yes, but what are we going to do, Betty?" Kim shook her head in frustration.

"It's a difficult problem, I must admit," said Dr. Director. "When I asked you to assist us by foiling two of La Chatonne's 'crimes,' and then to fill in for our agent, I never imagined that Al Trazz would consider you as a target to be destroyed."

"And now, _I'm_ acting as La Chatonne, so how can La Chatonne — which is me — kill Kim Possible — which is me, too?" Kim remarked. "Do I just disappear — as me — and we let it look as if La Chatonne murdered me? And what about my family? And Ron? What do we tell them?" She slumped back in her chair with a low growl of frustration. "This sitch is getting way past being weird!"

Dr. Director had been making some notes on a scratch pad, and now raised her eye to gaze at Kim. "As I see it, we have three options."

"First option: As La Chatonne you turn down Al Trazz's request to kill Kim Possible. This will mean that we still haven't got anyone inside his headquarters, and it will put your life in danger. Perhaps your family's lives, too."

"Second option: We stage an 'attempt on your life' and let La Chatonne take the credit. Then, we put you — as you — in Global Justice protective custody until we can shut down Al Trazz and his organization. However, if Trazz is not satisfied with a 'near miss' on your life, there is no telling how long it will take to get somebody inside 'The Mob.' And until we do, and dismantle 'The Mob,' your life will remain in danger."

"What's the third option?" Kim asked. "I don't think I'll like it."

"I think you'll hate it," Dr. Director said. "The third option is: we stage your 'death' and have La Chatonne take the credit. But this would mean having your family and friends all believe that you had died, Kim. Otherwise, you wouldn't be safe while operating as La Chatonne."

"You mean, _everybody_ would have to think that I'm dead? Mom, Daddy, the tweebs, Ron, Wade, Nana, Uncle Slim, Joss . . . " Kim's voice trailed off as she realized how much pain this would cause the people she cared for.

"I'm afraid so, Kim." Dr. Director was honestly upset at the suggestion she had just made.

"How long would I have to . . . well, 'stay dead?'"

"At least a month. Maybe two months."

"And put everybody I love, everybody who cares for me, through two months of mourning and grief?" Kim shook her head as if she was trying to shake off the idea itself. "And how do we convince everybody that I'm dead? Do we have to have a body that can be identified as me, for my parents to bury? Betty, that's too awful to think about!"

"If we don't convince Al Trazz that you're dead, Kim, then you, and perhaps some of your family, could be murdered at any time in the future, by some assassin that he hires." Dr. Director's next words had a chilling effect on Kim. "And you know _why_ we have to bring Al Trazz down, and dismantle his organization, soon."

"You don't have to remind me," Kim replied, soberly. "I've had nightmares about what would happen if . . . "

"I've had a few nightmares, myself," Dr. Director replied.

After several minutes of pacing the floor and furious thinking, Kim sat down again.

"All right, Betty, let's go with Option Three. You're right, I do hate it, but I can't see any other way out of this sitch. We have to bring Big Al down before he does . . . you know. So, let's do it!" Kim paused for a moment, and then asked, "But . . . _how_ do we do it?"

**[End of Part Five]**


	6. Chapter 6

**The Claws of the Kitten**

**PART SIX - The Way the World Could End**

"All right, Betty, let's go with Option Three. You're right, I do hate it, but I can't see any other way out of this sitch. We have to bring Big Al down before he does . . . you know. So, let's do it!" Kim paused for a moment, and then asked, "But . . . _how_ do we do it?"

"We can make a change in our original plan involving the minisubmarine _Simon_," said Dr. Director.

*****

"Wait a moment," said Ann. "What was this 'original plan' that you mention, the one involving the _Simon_?"

"Before our agent was injured, we were going to have her successfully steal the _Simon_," said Dr. Director. "With Kim on the scene it would look as if La Chatonne had finally beaten Kim Possible, and make her a more suitable addition to Al Trazz's organization."

"The GJ agent acting as La Chatonne was going to steal the sub," Kim explained, "I would report seeing somebody around the _Simon_, and find the note."

"We changed the plan in this fashion. We had a small robot sub with a nuclear-electric cell in it rigged to explode, and set the robot on autopilot to run out into deep water and then get vaporized," Dr. Director said. "It was fitted with a noisemaker that would duplicate the underwater sound signature of the _Simon_. Kim took the real _Simon_ away from Monk's Cay, and put it on the bottom as soon as she dived it, while the drone ran out, dived into the canyon, and exploded at a safe depth and distance from shore."

"What about James' friend, Doctor Wimsey?" Ann asked. "Did she know about this deception you were going to do with her submarine? Or is she a Global Justice agent?"

"Doctor Patricia Wimsey is a legitimate oceanographer, but she has also worked with Global Justice a number of times," explained Dr. Director. "Very much as Kim has done. Doctor Wimsey knew that the _Simon_ would appear to be destroyed, but that it would be returned undamaged in a few weeks."

"I see," Ann nodded. "I suppose you had something to do with the authorities in the Bahamas refusing to issue a death certificate for Kim, after the _Simon_ 'exploded,' too, didn't you?" Dr. Director raised an eyebrow in admiration at Ann's insight.

"We did." Dr. Director turned and spoke directly to Kim. "I see where you get your intuition," she said, smiling. "Like mother, like daughter."

"And the 'vandalism' that ruined Kim's gravestone, before it could be put in the cemetery?"

"I did that," said Kim, a bit sheepishly. "I didn't want all of you to get together and hold a funeral for me, so I rubbed out the dates with a pocket laser."

"Kim did this 'in character,' so that if anyone saw her, it would be blamed on La Chatonne," Dr. Director explained. "In fact, she hasn't been outside my quarters as herself since she 'died,'" she used air quotes, "in order to make sure no one realizes that Kim Possible is actually still alive."

"How many people know that Kim and La Chatonne are the same person?" Ann asked.

"Our agent knows that someone is acting as La Chatonne, instead of her, but she hasn't been told who is doing it," Betty replied. "In fact, only three people know the complete story. Myself, Kim, and now, you."

There was a brief silence in the room. Then Ann asked Dr. Director to continue the explanation.

"Well, once the plans were made," Betty went on, "La Chatonne contacted Big Al and agreed to his terms."

*****

"So, you're gonna hit Kim Possible, right?"

"Oui. I know that she wants to foil my operations, if she cannot capture me. I shall prepare a trap that will give her the choice of defeat, or suicide." La Chatonne laughed softly. "She is too proud to accept the disgrace of a major defeat, so she will die, instead. But it will be her choice, not mine."

"So nobody can pin it on you! Kitten, I like your style," Trazz spoke with open admiration. "When does she get it?" he asked, eagerly.

"In about ten days. James Possible is going to Nassau on a working vacation, and taking his family with him. Kim Possible will leave on the trip, but she will not return."

"Good. Once she's been hit, get in touch with me by the usual way." Trazz sighed. "This business is gettin' complicated! I need more good people, and I think you'll be a real help to me, Kitten." Al stood up from the chair and turned to leave the room.

"I've got a big operation comin' up soon, and I can use somebody like you in it. You keep in touch, okay?"

"Oui, M'seur," the cat burglar said as she stood up. "Until later, au revoir."

*****

"After the 'explosion,' La Chatonne reported to Big Al that she had disposed of Kim Possible, and how she had done it," said Kim.

"Once the public grief of your family was seen by minor agents of the 'Mob,' she was called in by Al Trazz and admitted to his inner circle," Dr. Director added.

"The first thing I learned was where Big Al's headquarters is," said Kim. "The second thing was that every entrance is covered by machine guns that automatically shoot anybody who tries to come in, unless they key in a special code first."

"We're working on a way to shut that system off without alerting anyone," Betty explained. "Once we can do that we'll move in at once."

"So you see, Mom, I have to keep on being La Chatonne until GJ can raid the place," Kim explained. "Once it's all over, I can come out of hiding."

"Just a minute," Ann interrupted. She faced Betty directly as she went on. "I can understand that you wanted your efforts to get an agent into Al Trazz's headquarters to succeed so you could arrest him. But was it really necessary to have La Chatonne be that agent, and get into this 'Mob' by having us all think Kimmie was dead? Why the urgency?"

Kim and Dr. Director exchanged a glance. "Betty, you have to tell her. Mom is a doctor, I'm sure she'll understand."

"Very well, Kim." Dr. Director turned to face Ann directly. "Dr. Possible, if Al Trazz was just organizing a large-scale group of criminals I wouldn't even consider putting Kim and those who care for her in this situation. But we have collected certain facts, and put together bits of information, that lead Global Justice to the firm conclusion that once Al Trazz has the necessary resources, he will launch a major blackmail attempt on the entire human race. Either he gets anything he wants, or he releases — a disease — on the world at large."

Ann frowned in concentration. "So, he's going to threaten to use biological warfare?

Dr. Director nodded. "Exactly."

"What disease does he plan on using?" Ann asked. "Typhoid? Cholera? Ebola?"

Dr. Director shook her head, and then told her the disease Al Trazz had in mind. Ann's face went dead white.

"Oh, my god! He has access to . . . that!?"

"Yes. The only samples known to exist," said Dr. Director. "They're kept in a special biological safe in his headquarters, which is why we need to penetrate and secure the place."

"And Big Al has told La Chatonne that he needs more agents because of a 'big operation' he has plans for," Kim remarked. "It's supposed to happen soon. And it could be . . . that."

"The deadliest epidemic that has ever happened to humanity," Ann observed. "In less than two years, it killed one hundred million people, worldwide, and six hundred and seventy-five thousand in this country." She shook her head in shocked dismay. "And this lunatic threatens to spread it around?"

Dr. Director continued. "The Global Justice medical section calculated that after allowing for the fact that world population is much larger now than it was before, if the same epidemic happened today, with the same percentage of casualties, the world-wide death toll would be roughly three hundred and twenty-five million, with two million dead in the United States alone."

Ann frowned in thought. "Have you calculated the 'worst case' scenario?"

Betty nodded. "By spraying the virus around in several major airports, Al Trazz's 'Mob' could spread the disease around the world in two or three days." She looked directly at Ann as she went on. "Half a billion people could die of the disease alone in about four months. After that, people would flee any place it was found, food production and distribution would grind to a halt, and organized society would break down."

Ann's face was visibly pale, but Betty continued her litany. "Riots . . . plagues . . . anyone suspected of carrying illness would be shot on sight." Her voice grew harsh. "Civilization itself could collapse into barbarism, with a final death toll of eighty percent of humanity."

Nobody spoke for a full minute, as they all considered what might happen if Big Al's threat were carried out. Then Ann nodded, and firmly said, "You're both right. The human race has had one dose of that already, and a second would be catastrophic." Ann's 'professional surgeon' manner slipped into place. "Tell me what you want me to do, and I'll do it."

"Return home, continue to mourn for your daughter, and tell no one about this meeting." Dr. Director ticked off the points on her fingers as she spoke.

"Do not make any further use of Kim's battlesuit. When you wore it and went to that villains' meeting, it might have made Al Trazz believe that Kim wasn't dead."

"Oh! Did I upset something, then?" Ann asked.

"Fortunately, no," Dr. Director answered. "Trazz has spies in both Doctor Drakken's and Professor Dementor's organizations, so he knows that it was you, not Kim, who invaded that meeting. I felt that the best thing to do was to bring you to GJ headquarters and brief you on the matter. Kim insisted that she be the one to bring you in, but to maintain the fiction that Kim Possible is dead, she went as La Chatonne."

"I was supposed to 'take you prisoner,' blindfold you, and bring you here," Kim sheepishly explained. "I'm sorry about the knockout gas, Mom, but you didn't give me time to explain the sitch."

Ann Possible frowned for a moment and then said, "All right, Kimmie, I accept the apology. But don't you _ever_ do something like that again, young lady!"

"I won't, Mom. But, say, how did you open the battlesuit locker? It's keyed to my palm print, and should only open for me."

Ann Possible smiled. "I'm your mother, Kimmie, and a mother knows everything about her daughter."

Kim grinned. "But you didn't know that I was La Chatonne, did you?"

Dr. Director continued with her instructions. "Finally, stop your efforts to find La Chatonne. As La Chatonne, Kim will tell Al Trazz that she visited your house and gave you false proof that the minisub was sabotaged by Dr. Drakken."

"Perhaps I should tell James, Ron and Wade about La Chatonne's 'visit' and her 'proof,'" said Ann. "If it really happened, I would certainly do that."

"Yes. You should tell them," Betty agreed.

"Then we'll all keep our fingers crossed," said Kim.

"And pray that Al Trazz's headquarters is raided in time," Ann remarked. They all silently agreed, and grimly considered the consequences if the operation failed. None of them liked it, one bit.

**[End of Part Six]**


	7. Chapter 7

**The Claws of the Kitten**

**PART SEVEN - You Can Run, But You'll Just Die Tired**

****

Author's notes: Many thanks to those who have read and commented on Part Six: CajunBear73, Katsumara, Michael Howard, screamingphoenix and Waveform.

Disclaimer: All characters, locations and situations drawn from the TV series _Kim Possible_ are the property of Disney. The Chicago Fire professional soccer team belongs to its owners. All other stuff in this story, and the plot, belong to me.

Big Al's Headquarters [If You Knew Where It Was, Big Al Would Kill You]

Shego was angry with herself. To think that she had let Dr. Drakken walk right into a trap set by Al Trazz was infuriating. To get caught herself the same way by the sleep-gas bombs was a jolt to her professional pride, as well. The only up-side to the situation was the fact that Duff Killigan, Professor Dementor, Monkey Fist, and both Señor Senior Senior and his son Junior had been caught in the same way. _At least Dr. D and I aren't the only idiots around_, she thought. But that was small comfort when Al Trazz told the captive villains that since he didn't need them as members of 'The Mob,' he was going to have them all 'rubbed out.' By submachine gun fire in a garage, of all things!

_Where did this thug get this high-tech restraint system?_ Shego wondered. A metal ball encased each of her hands and feet, and humming beams of energy connected the balls to rails above and below the prisoners. It all looked like something from a graphic novel or the latest spy movie. And it was much too effective to suit Shego; she could neither generate her plasma-balls nor break out of the restraints.

"Father, I do not think this is a proper way for us to perish. Do you?" Junior addressed his father as calmly as if he was discussing plans for a social function.

"Certainly not, my son," Señor Senior Senior replied, in the same manner. "We must seek an improvement in the situation at once. Mr. Trazz! A word with you, if you would be so kind?"

Al strolled over to the right end of the line of prisoners, and regarded the Seniors with a mixture of respect (they were rich) and amusement (they were his captives). "Yeah, what do you want, Senior? If you wanna beg for mercy or try ta bribe me, just forget it!"

"Certainly not! I just wish to protest. That my son and I should perish in a garage, in such a fashion, is totally déclassé!" Señor Senior's voice was cultured and polite, but gave a clear indication of his disapproval. Not of his impending demise, but in the way it was to be done.

"Yeah? Well, it's traditional, ya know?"

"Oh, I see," Señor Senior Senior remarked. "Well, far be it from us to ignore tradition."

"I'd like to do this on Valentine's Day," Al remarked, "or maybe some other holiday, but you mugs keep crowdin' my plans. I'm gonna move in on the World-Wide Evil Empire next, and I can't have you small fry botherin' me." Al Trazz gave the Seniors a dismissive wave of his hand, and turned away, to where Duff Killigan's golf bag lay on a table.

Al yanked the putter out of the bag, spilling several other clubs on the floor as he did so. Ignoring the fallen golf clubs, Al swung the putter idly a few times. "Maybe I'll take up golf, an' use these sticks of yours, Killigan," he remarked, in a jovial voice. "They look like they're good stuff."

Duff quivered with rage at the careless treatment of his personal property.

"Ya know nothin' about the game!" he fumed. "They're 'clubs,' nay 'sticks,' ya blitherin' Sassenach!"

Al waved the putter close to Killigan's nose in a threatening manner. "I don't like backtalk from a guy who wears a skirt an' carries a purse! See?"

"It's a kilt, an' mah sporran," Killigan snapped. "It's 'traditional' for a Scotsman ta wear these," he added.

"Yeah, whatever." Al shrugged, and carelessly tossed the putter to the floor. Killigan was speechless with fury at the maltreatment of his possessions.

Al paused in front of Monkey Fist and gazed at him thoughtfully. "I wasn't really sure if I should have you rubbed out, or just sell ya to a zoo." Al glanced at two of his henchmen, who stood at the control panel for the restraint system. "Not likely he'd fetch much anyway, would he, boys?"

The two gangsters dutifully agreed that Monkey Fist was a poor specimen, and not likely to be worth much money. Then one of them was bold enough to ask a question.

"Say, Boss, now that we've got 'em, why wait any more? Why don't we just shoot 'em, an' get it over with?"

Al seemed to be honestly shocked. "Boys, ya gotta stick with the plan! We'll blast 'em at 10:40, just like it happened back in 1929. Tradition, know what I mean?"

"I've got a tradition, too," Dr. Drakken muttered, "it's called 'breathing.'"

Monkey Fist had growled in fury when he heard Al Trazz's suggestion that he wasn't even worth selling to a zoo. Controlling his rage with difficulty, he addressed the gang boss in a deadly voice.

"If you'd care to turn me loose for five minutes, I'll give you a demonstration of monkey kung fu that will help you answer the question." Fist's eyes smoldered with anger.

"Not a chance, monkey-man," Al chuckled. "I ain't that stupid."

Al moved on to Dr. Drakken, who had been studying the restraint system as best he could while locked up in it.

"Tell me, 'Big Al,' why do you use an ultra-modern, high-tech restraint system to keep us all immobilized, if you're so interested in traditional crime methods?" Drakken asked in a conversational tone. "It rather spoils your image, doesn't it?" On hearing the question, Al looked a bit sheepish, and shrugged like a small boy caught in a fib by his schoolteacher.

"Well, you know, extenuatin' circumstances . . . I ain't proud."

Moving on from Dr. Drakken, Al stopped in front of Shego and gazed at her in a calculating way. "Now, you're a really good-lookin' doll, sweetcakes. Are you sure you don't wanna join The Mob?" He stretched out an arm and pinched Shego's cheek as he spoke. "I can always use another 'gun moll' around the place."

Shego strained helplessly against the restraints, and snarled back at the gang boss. "I usually slug people who say things like that to me, garlic-breath!"

"Oooo! Touch-eee!" Al replied. "You ain't in any position to slug anybody, doll."

Shego renewed her mental grip on her temper before she spoke again. "Listen, Trazz, the only reason I don't spit in your face is that I'm rather particular about where I spit!"

Al's face turned dark and he hit Shego's cheek with a backhand slap that made her head rock and her eyes water. Doctor Drakken gave a low growl and he tugged at his bonds. Killigan said something unpleasant in Gaelic. To Shego's left Professor Dementor muttered, "Arroganter Affe!"

"Observe, my son, this lack of simple courtesy," Señor Senior Senior remarked. "A proper super villain should always respect the dignity of a member of the fair sex, even when she is one's enemy."

"Yes, Father, I have noticed that you were always polite to Kim Possible, under any circumstances."

Shego's eyes cleared and her head stopped ringing. There was a salty taste in her mouth, and she felt a trickle of blood going down her chin. _That pinch and slap are going to cost you bigtime, you sexist creep!_ thought Shego.

Al took a submachine gun cartridge from his pocket and held it up close to Shego's face. "See this, doll? It's got a special coating that makes the slug real slippery, an' it'll go through body armor, slick as a whistle! That fancy outfit of yours won't do you any good."

Shego gulped. The special powers that she and her brothers had automatically made whatever they wore bullet-resistant, but these special bullets were a new factor. _Nobody but my brothers know about that! How did this thug find out?_ As she puzzled over the problem, Al turned and called to a group of his men standing near the entrance to the garage.

"Hey, Kitten!"

"Ici." La Chatonne stepped into view, and Al made a 'come here' gesture. The young woman came trotting over to Al and the prisoners.

"This one's got guts," Al said, indicated Shego. "She could be dangerous if she got loose. You keep an eye on her."

"Avec plaisir, M'sieur." The black-clad figure gazed intently at Shego, who glared back, defiantly.

"I heard that you know who it was that set up Kim Possible for that submarine death-ride," Shego growled at La Chatonne. "Come on, tell us, who did it, really?"

"C'êtait moi." La Chatonne gave a shrug, as if killing Kim Possible was a small matter, hardly worth noticing.

Shego felt a surge of anger. _Who gave this French pastry the right to take Kimmie down? I was supposed to beat her! Not kill her, no, _Shego admitted to herself, _but just beat her in a one-on-one fight . . . _"Why the mask, honey?" Shego jeered at the lithe female. "Do you have to hide an ugly face?"

La Chatonne moved in close and made eye-to-eye contact with Shego. The mask hid the French woman's face from Shego, but she noticed that La Chatonne had green eyes. _Green eyes. . . just like Kimmie, rest her soul. At least, the Princess went out by choice, not hog-tied and bullet-blasted . . . wait a minute!_ The black-clad La Chatonne had winked at Shego, and grinned at the same time. Shego just glared back, but her mind was racing. _This French female . . . the way she moves . . . those green eyes . . . I wonder . . ._

INTRUDER ALERT! INTRUDER ALERT! INTROoo . . . The sudden mechanical alarm voice died in mid-word, as one of 'The Mob' came rushing into the garage.

"Boss! It's the cops! GJ bulls! They're comin' in everywhere, an' the autoguns ain't workin'!"

Al roared a command to his men. "Blast 'em, boys! Use them new slugs in yer guns!"

As the mobsters took up positions to fire on the doorways, La Chatonne turned back to face Shego. Tossing her mask aside, she reached into her mouth and pulled out a small pad from inside each cheek. Shego immediately saw that now La Chatonne looked like Kim Possible. Then she whirled about and tossed one pad at a group of the gunmen and the other pad at the two men at the restraint system controls. Both pads burst in clouds of sleep-gas, the gangsters went down and Kim shut off the system holding the hostages.

"You wanted to hit Al, Shego!" Kim shouted. "Do it!" She pulled off her hood, and her long, red hair was revealed.

Free of restraint, Shego joyfully shouted, "Thanks, Kimmie!" and started slinging plasma-balls at Al's men. Monkey Fist growled, "At last!" He grabbed one of the unconscious thugs at the restraint system controls, spun him in a wrestler's airplane spin, and threw him across the room into another group of Al's men, who were facing the doorways, guns at the ready. Duff Killigan ran to his golf bag and pulled out his driver and a batch of his exploding golf balls.

"Scotland for aye!" Killigan shouted, as he drove ball after ball at groups, pairs and single thugs. The series of explosions knocked down gangsters, broke up organized groups and did a fine job of distracting 'The Mob' while the hideout was under attack.

Professor Dementor lowered his head and ran at two gangsters, ramming his helmet into one's back and knocking him ten feet across the room, while Junior set to work judo-chopping 'Mob' members' necks. The sudden attack by the now-freed captives confused the members of the 'Mob,' and prevented a proper defense against the incoming Global Justice agents. Al Trazz shouted orders that were not heard clearly, and only some of the gunmen obeyed. In less than three minutes Al saw that his hideout was falling to the GJ forces.

"Come back here, you cheek-pinching louse!" Shego slung two plasma- balls after Al Trazz as he ran to a small side door, yanked it open, and ran into the tunnel behind the door. The plasmas hit the now-open door, but Al escaped.

Shego followed Al down the tunnel, with Kim close behind her. A second door at the end of the tunnel opened into an elegantly-furnished office, with a small refrigerator with a combination lock on its door against one wall. Another of Shego's plasma-balls just missed Big Al, and splashed on the refrigerator door he was trying to open. The gang boss growled something unpleasant, pulled out a revolver, and snapped three quick shots at Shego, and Kim, as she entered the room. Both of them hit the floor as the slugs whined past.

Al jumped to a panel behind the desk, yanked it open and slapped a switch mounted beside a now-revealed opening into another tunnel. A red light beside the switch blinked off and a green light came on, as Al fired two more random shots, and then headed down this new tunnel at a run.

"Stop! Don't go in there!" Kim's warning cry was ignored.

"No you don't!" Shego leaped to her feet and started after Al Trazz, only to be tripped up by the grapple line that shot out from the left arm of Kim's black cat-suit.

"What are you doing? He's getting away!" Shego raged. A moment later the sound of machine guns hammering echoed back from the tunnel. After less than a minute, Al Trazz staggered back into the office, bleeding from a dozen wounds.

"Is this - the end - of Big Al?" he murmured, and then fell flat on his face, unmoving.

Kim moved forward, knelt and felt the gangster's neck for a pulse. Then she stood up, and shuddered. "I've never seen somebody die that way, before . . . "

After a moment, Kim took a deep breath, and turned back to where Shego lay staring at her.

"Global Justice reversed the indicators for the security system, Shego, and shut it down, so when Al thought it was ON, it was really OFF," Kim explained. "When Al hit the switch for the escape tunnel security system he turned it ON instead of OFF, and then ran right into his own booby-trap." Kim picked up a stray submachine gun bullet from the floor, and held it close for Shego to see.

"These are those coated bullets Al bragged about, the kind that can penetrate body armor. Your jumpsuit wouldn't stop them."

Shego stared at Big Al's body, which was making rather a mess on the floor. For a moment, in her mind, she saw herself lying there, bullet-riddled and lifeless. It was not a pleasant picture. Then she looked up at Kim Possible, the girl she had fought, and tried to hurt, so many times, who had just saved Shego's life. In a shaky voice, Shego remarked, "And if you hadn't snared me, I'd have got it, too." She glanced at Al's limp form again and then added, "Thanks, Kim. Guess I owe you one."

Kim untangled Shego's feet and the green-skinned woman stood up. "You know, Princess, I had a hunch that La Chatonne was really you, in disguise."

"How did you figure that out, Shego?"

"The way you move in that cat-suit is the same way you move in your battlesuit. That got me thinking. When you winked and grinned at me I got really suspicious, and when you pulled out those sleep-gas bombs of yours, I was sure."

At that moment GJ agent Will Du, two more agents and four medical technicians entered the office area.

"I see Al Trazz did not escape, Miss Possible. What about the safe?"

"Over there," Kim pointed. "It's still closed. He couldn't get it open before Shego and I arrived."

Will nodded his thanks and directed the medical team to the special safe, where they set to work to open it, with great care. Then he turned back to Kim and Shego.

"Thank you for your action, ladies," said Will. "My team will take care of the disease cultures." He looked back up the tunnel toward the garage, and frowned. "Agent Wise should have been here by now. Would you go and see what's keeping him, Miss Possible?"

"Sure." Kim looked at Shego and then glanced toward the tunnel. Shego nodded in reply, and they started back up the tunnel to the main garage area.

"Who knew you weren't really dead, Princess?" Shego's voice sounded almost polite.

"Only Dr. Director," Kim answered shortly.

"Hoo, _boy_, are you gonna get _yelled_ at when the news breaks," Shego chuckled. "Your folks will ground you for a year!"

Kim glanced at the green-skinned young woman. _Is Shego actually making small talk with me? This sitch gets weirder by the hour._

As they came into the garage, they saw a group of Global Justice agents gathering up the remaining members of Al's 'Mob,' and a few others, led by Agent Bernard Wise, standing around the formerly-captive villains. As Shego hurried up to Doctor Drakken, Wise ordered his men to put handcuffs on all seven villains.

"What do you think you're doing?" Kim exploded. "Why are you arresting them?"

"Please do not interfere with Global Justice business, Miss Possible," said Wise, in a haughty voice.

Kim bristled at his attitude, and she stalked up close to the agent and glared at him

"Do you have any warrants for their arrest?" Kim's voice had a distinctly icy tone.

"They are all known criminals, and we're going to hold them as suspects, Miss Possible," Agent Wise replied.

"They were not part of Al's 'Mob,' Kim protested. "He was going to kill them all, to eliminate competition. What's more, they fought Al's men and helped you to capture this place."

"Does that mean we're Good Guys, Father?" Junior was honestly puzzled.

"It would appear so, my son," Señor Senior Senior mused.

"Way to go, Princess," Shego muttered.

"Aye, lassie, you tell him," Killigan remarked. Dr. Drakken, Professor Dementor and Monkey Fist simply stared in disbelief. Kim Possible was actually standing up for their rights!

"I am the senior agent of Global Justice present, and I say we will take them into custody!" Wise snapped.

"You are not the senior agent present, Mr. Wise! I am," said Will Du, as he came into the room. "Your primary mission in this operation was to secure the virus samples and to prevent anyone from escaping with them. Instead of completing your mission you stopped to apprehend people who were not part of Al Trazz's 'Mob.'" Will came face to face with Wise, and gave him a look of disapproval that would have delighted Middleton High School Vice Principal Steve Barkin. "If Al Trazz had escaped with those virus samples, and then

released them as he had planned to do, it could have led to the collapse of human civilization. Kim Possible and Shego prevented that while you were chasing after personal glory instead of doing your job! Return to Global Justice headquarters and report yourself to Dr. Director. I am relieving you of your duties in this operation."

Kim's eyes widened in surprise. Will Du was supporting her? She glanced at Drakken and Shego, both of whom looked back at her with amazed expressions.

Agent Wise wilted visibly under Will Du's gaze. Then he turned and walked toward the door, with a defeated air about him.

"One year as a full agent and thinks he already knows everything," Will Du muttered. "The Service is going to the Devil!" Kim managed to hold back her laughter.

Will turned and looked at the seven villains before him: Monkey Fist, Duff Killigan, Professor Dementor, Dr. Drakken, Shego, Señor Senior Senior and his son Junior. "Thank you for your assistance. You are all free to go. I shall include the fact that you aided Global Justice in this operation in my report to Dr. Director."

"Ach! If word of this gets out, it vill ruin my reputation as a super villain," Professor Dementor muttered.

"Dinna worry, Professor, ah'm sure you'll be able to live it doon," Duff Killigan chuckled.

"Was Mr. Trazz captured, or did he escape?" Señor Senior Senior politely asked Kim. She explained what had happened to the boss of 'The Mob,' at which news Senior nodded thoughtfully.

"A rather poetic end for one so uncultured," he observed. At Kim's questioning look, he explained, "Shakespeare said that it is appropriate 'to have the engineer hoist with his own petard.' Or in this case, the gangster shot by his own guns."

Señor Senior Senior then bowed formally to Kim. "My son and I offer you our deepest thanks, Miss Possible. Both for saving us from Al Trazz and his men, and for defending our rights, when you did not have to."

"I'll second that, Kimmie," said Shego. "I really wanna kick your butt some day, but I have to admit it, you've got style!"

Kim looked at the seven faces, all of which (even Monkey Fist's!) bore a look of respect for her. "Well, hey, you know . . . that's what I do."

Señor Senior Senior smiled, and then turned to Junior.

"Come, my son, we must return home and prepare for tomorrow night."

"What are you planning to do, tomorrow night?" Kim cautiously asked. "Try to take over the world?"

"Certainly not!" Señor Senior Senior answered. "The Chicago Fire soccer team will be on satellite broadcast tomorrow night, and both my son and I regularly follow their exploits."

"Aye! They're playin' an exhibition match against Manchester United," Killigan said eagerly. "Ah dinna want ta miss it!"

"I'll wager ten pounds on Manchester," said Monkey Fist, "at two to one. Is anyone interested?"

"Gemacht!" said Professor Dementor, as he pulled out a wad of Euros. Kim rolled her eyes.

_Why am I surprised?_ Kim thought, as Shego and Dr. Drakken both joined in the betting pool. _I wonder if there are any other professional sports teams in Chicago that I don't know about . . . yet._

**[End of Part Seven]**

"Arroganter Affe" is a colloquial German phrase that means "arrogant monkey"

"Gemacht!" is German for "Made!" in the sense of "That bet is made!" or "I'll make that bet!"

"Ici" is French for "Here"

"Avec plaisir, M'sieur" is French for "With pleasure, sir"

"C'êtait moi" is French for "It was me"

Señor Senior Senior is quoting from Shakespeare's play _Hamlet_, Act 3, Scene 4, lines 224 and 225


	8. Chapter 8

**The Claws of the Kitten**

**PART EIGHT - Nothing to Sneeze At**

Author's notes: This is the final chapter of the story, so I would like to take the time to say "Many thanks" to all those who have read and commented on the story so far: CajunBear73, Captain Deadpool, Data Seeker, The Gandhara, Katsumara, Michael Howard, Muzzlehatch, NakedMoleDogg, screaming phoenix, Soth11 and Waveform.

I have three stories in development, so keep your eyes open for more stuff in the coming year.

Disclaimer: All characters, locations and situations drawn from the TV series _Kim Possible_ are the property of Disney. All other stuff in this story, and the plot, belong to me.

The Possible Home, Middleton

As the Stoppables got out of their car in front of the Possible home, Ron felt again the twinge of pain he had felt each time he had visited Kim's parents since . . . It . . . had happened. With Rufus in his usual pocket, Ron followed Gene and Jeanne up the walk to the front door, wondering again about what it was that had made Kim's mother tell them to come over. All that she had said was that something very important had come up.

Ann Possible met them at the door, and led the Stoppables to the dining room. As he entered the room, Ron hardly noticed Tim, Jim, James, Slim and Nana sitting or standing around the table. His eyes immediately locked onto a slim, red-haired girl in her teens, wearing cargo pants and a black top, with her back turned to the door, standing beside the table. He froze in his tracks, and gulped, "Ku - KP?" Behind Ron, his mother gave an audible gasp of shock.

Rufus made a squeak of surprise, and said, "Kim?"

The girl turned to face them, and Ron's heart sank. It wasn't Kim; it was Kim's young cousin Joss, instead. Rufus slipped down into the pocket with a disappointed groan.

Ann quickly explained the situation. "Jean, Gene, this is Kim's cousin Joss, and her father. Joss, Slim, you've already met Kim's partner, Ronald. These are Ron's parents. You haven't met them before."

"Just call me 'Slim,' folks; everybody does." He shook hands with Gene and touched his hat to Jean.

Joss wore a rather serious expression as she greeted the Stoppables. "Kim's been my hero for years, and I'm gonna grow up to be just like her," Joss explained. "I aim to catch the varmint that rigged that submarine that killed her." There was a determination in the young girl's voice and manner that impressed Ron's parents deeply.

"Joss, if you find that 'varmint' before I do, save me a piece of him," said Ron. Rufus gave a growl of agreement. "And if I find him first, I'll do the same for you." They shook hands on it.

Ann introduced Nana to the Stoppables, and then had each person sit in a specific one of the thirteen chairs around the table. James, Slim, Joss, Tim and Jim sat in the chairs along one side of the table, while Ron, his parents and Nana sat along the other side. Ann took one of the two chairs at the foot of the table, with another empty chair at the side, between Ann and Nana. There was an empty chair by itself at the head of the table. Ron noted that this chair might have been where Kim would have been seated, if she had been present. _It's like the riderless horse at a funeral in Arlington National Cemetery_; he thought, and mentally flinched at the idea. Once Ron and his parents were seated, Ron called up Wade on the Kimunicator. Then he handed the device to Ann, who put it on a small rotatable base, facing herself, while Rufus hopped onto the table and sat beside it. Finally, Slim asked the question that was bothering them all.

"Annie, jest what's goin' on? First I get your telephone call to come a-runnin,' and then that Global Justice hoverjet lands in front of the house, sayin' they're supposed to bring me, Joss and Nana to Middleton."

"You must admit it was a thrilling trip, Slim," said Nana Possible, calmly.

"Just be patient, Slim, and in a few minutes you'll understand. Now, if I may have everyone's attention?" Ann Possible spoke in formal way. "I would like to introduce you all to someone." She took a small communicator from a pocket and spoke into it. "All right, Betty, come on in." Footsteps were immediately heard from Kim's loft room, and everyone turned to see who was coming down the stairs. Dr. Director came into the room, walked to the vacant chair beside Nana, and sat down.

Ann introduced her guest to the others, and then went on, "I want to share some very good news with all of you, and I'm sure you will all enjoy hearing it." She scanned the group, noted that she had everybody's attention, and then dropped her bombshell. "Kim is alive!"

Tim and Jim exchanged an 'Oh, oh!' look, as did Joss and Nana, and Mr. Stoppable and his wife, while Rufus traded a similar look with Wade in the Kimunicator. James, Slim and Ron all stared at Ann. Each one had the same thought in their mind: Ann Possible had gone over the edge, and her sanity was slipping away.

Slim pushed his hat back slightly on his head, and gave Kim's mother a serious look. "Annie, you ain't been hittin' the loco weed, have you?"

"I'm fine, Slim. And I can prove what I say is true." She shifted her gaze from Slim to the doorway behind the empty chair at the head of the table and turned the Kimunicator to face in the same direction. "Wouldn't you say so, Kimmie?"

"Well, I feel like I'm alive, Mom." Kim came through the door, walked to the head of the table, and stood behind the empty chair, while everyone else in the room (except Ann and Betty) stared at her in frozen shock.

Kim smiled a little nervously. "Hello Daddy, Ron . . . Uncle Slim, Joss, Tim, Jim . . . Nana, Hi, folks, Rufus . . . Hi, Wade!" There was a dead silence. If Rufus had sneezed it would have sounded like a cannon shot. Finally, Kim plaintively added, "Well, can't anybody say 'hello?'"

In the next three seconds, nine things happened simultaneously. Rufus squealed for joy, jumped two feet in the air and did a back-flip. Kim's father leaped to his feet, knocking over his chair, shouted, "Kimmie-cub!" and threw his arms around Kim, while Ron did the same, only shouting "KP!" instead. Slim and Joss shook the windows with a thunderous "YEEE-HAA!" Wade let out a yodel of joy on the Kimunicator. Tim and Jim exchanged a 'high five' and shouted, "All right!" Ron's father said a short prayer of thanks in perfect Hebrew. Ron's mother started to cry. Nana clasped her hands and said, "Thank the Lord!" Except for Nana, Betty and Ann, everybody then rushed to Kim and gave her a series of hugs and kisses. Rufus swarmed up and over the group and jumped to Kim's neck, hugging her as best he could.

Finally, Kim gasped, "Guys, I can't breathe this way."

Nana got up from her chair and snapped out, in a sharp 'voice of command,' "All of you, back off and let her get some air!"

Nana whacked several backs with her cane and everybody let go of Kim, except for Ron and James. Ron had Kim locked in his arms, and wore a blissful smile on his face. He seemed to be willing to just stand there, holding Kim, for a couple of years, at least. James stood slightly to one side with a hand on Kim's shoulder, while he wiped away his tears of joy with the other hand. James, Kim and Ron were all crying openly.

Kim managed to glance at Nana, grin through her tears and shrug a little. Nana then rapped Ron on the head with the cane. This finally got his attention, and he looked around to see what was happening.

"You've got your whole life to hug her, boy, and I can't wait that long," Nana said, not unkindly. Ron grinned sheepishly and stepped back, whereupon Kim threw her arms around her grandmother, who started to shed some tears of joy of her own.

"Oh, my dear, my dear, I kept hoping and praying . . . I just knew you had to be alive, somewhere, somehow."

"I wanted you all to know, Nana, but everything had to be kept secret." Kim shook some tears from her eyes. "Making you all think I was dead was the hardest thing I've ever done in my life."

"Well, as an old operator myself I can understand why it could be necessary," Nana nodded thoughtfully. "But please don't do it again, dear." She looked at James, still standing beside his 'Kimmie-cub,' with a look of astonishment, joy and relief on his face, and tears trickling down his cheeks. "It upsets your father."

"I won't," Kim answered, and then impishly added, "Frankly, Nana, I think being dead is really a pain."

Tim and Jim grinned. Ann, Nana and Ron started to chuckle. And in a moment everyone was shaking with the joyous laughter of relief.

Kim made a point of speaking directly to Tim and Jim. "I saw what you fellows made for me. I just wanted to say thanks." Kim went down on her knees and hugged her brothers. "I love you guys!"

Tim and Jim didn't wisecrack or pull away, but hugged Kim in return and said, "We're really glad . . . "

" . . . you're back, Sis."

"Kimberly Ann Possible, you'd better have a _very_ good explanation for all of this!" At her husband's words, Ann Possible laughed and said, "Jinx! You owe me a dinner, James." James stared at his wife in bewilderment.

"I said exactly the same thing to Kim a week ago when I met her at Global Justice headquarters," Ann explained.

"WHAT? You - you knew?!" James Possible was stunned. "You knew our Kimmie-cub was alive, and you didn't tell me - "

Dr. Director spoke up. "The fact that Kim was alive had to remain a secret until the operation was over, in order to protect her life."

"Betty, you'd better tell them the whole sitch," said Kim.

"I will, Kim, but don't you have someone to introduce to your family and friends, first?" Dr. Director smiled as she spoke, and Kim slapped her own forehead as she remembered.

"Oh, yes!" Kim jumped up, went back to the door and called, "It's okay, come on in."

A moment later a slim, red-headed young woman in a Global Justice uniform walked in. Kim took her by the arm, led her to the table and said, "Everybody, this is Global Justice Agent Yolanda Renault, who is also known as La Chatonne."

For the second time that day the room was totally silent. Yolanda was the same height, build and appearance as Kim! Even her hair was the same auburn shade, of the same length. The only obvious difference was the more rounded cheeks on the GJ agent's face.

"I thought La Chatonne had a big scar on her forehead?" Wade asked from the Kimunicator screen.

"I wore a prosthetic scar whenever I was La Chatonne," Yolanda explained. "That way if I had to take off my mask there would be a visible difference between La Chatonne and myself." To everyone's surprise, except for a slight French accent, her voice was much like Kim's.

"I had a 'scar,' and special pads inside my cheeks to make my face look the same as Yolanda's," Kim added. "There were sleep-gas capsules concealed in the pads, too."

"You and Kim look like twins," said Jeanne Stoppable, in an amazed voice.

"Merci beaucoup! Thank you for the compliment," Yolanda replied, with a bow. "Actually, I'm three years older than Kimberly." She went to the foot of the table and sat down in the chair between Jim and Ann Possible.

"Now that everybody is present, Betty, you'd better fill in the details about this business, before some of us faint from sheer curiosity," said Ann, with a grin.

Dr. Director smiled in agreement, and began.

"Well, it all started about three years ago . . . " She went on, describing the whole series of events, as she had told Ann a week before. Everyone listened without interrupting, but when she mentioned that Al Trazz had planned to make an open offer of fifty thousand dollars to anyone who arranged for Kim's death, Slim broke into Betty's narrative.

"Hold on, there, Ma'am! You mean this hombre was gonna put a price on Kim's head?"

"Exactly," Dr. Director nodded. Slim turned to his brother, with a stern expression on his face.

"Jim, I reckon we'd better have ourselves a little 'talk' with this Al Trazz. Appears to me that he's gettin' a mite too big fer his britches."

"There's a deep-space probe going to Pluto that's scheduled for launch next week," Kim's father said grimly. "We can give Mr. Trazz a long vacation trip."

"That won't be necessary," Dr. Director remarked. "Mr. Trazz is already experiencing a much warmer climate." She went on, describing the Global Justice raid on Al Trazz's headquarters, his sudden demise, and the release of the seven villains who were about to be killed by 'The Mob.'

"Say, they helped Global Justice," mused Ron. "Won't that ruin their reputations as villains?"

"Oh, I think they'll live it down, Ron," Kim chuckled. "Unless they like being Good Guys for a change."

"Monkey Fist? Dementor? Never happen!" Ron replied. Rufus shook his head and squeaked, "Uh-uh!"

"But the Seniors, maybe . . . " Ron added thoughtfully. As he considered the idea of villains turning honest, even for a few days, Kim's Grandmother spoke up.

"Just what was it that Mr. Trazz was going to threaten to turn loose on the world?" Nana asked. "Or is that a secret?"

"It's not really a secret," said Ann, "but it's very scary. He was going to threaten to spread the 1918 influenza virus throughout the world."

"He was going to blackmail the world with . . . the flu?" Ron's voice held a mixture of amusement and astonishment. "But, people get that all the time. We have to get flu shots each fall." Except for Ann, Dr. Director, Yolanda, Nana and Kim, everyone else at the table looked amused or puzzled.

"Not for this kind of influenza, Ronald," said Ann. "The type of flu that struck the world in 1918 was the worst epidemic that has ever hit the human race." The serious way she spoke held everyone's attention.

"Ann, what about that plague that happened in the Middle Ages?" James asked. "The Black Death, wasn't it?"

"Yes, James, but the Black Death took years to spread from the Far East, across Asia, into Europe and Africa," she answered. "And it never got to North or South America, or Africa south of the Sahara. However, the 1918 influenza was world-wide less than six months after it first appeared, even though there was no air travel back then. What's more, the Black Death didn't kill as many people as the 1918 influenza epidemic did."

"Influenza is one of the most contagious of all diseases, and it can spread from one person to another before the first person knows they are sick," said Betty. "By spraying the influenza virus around in several major airports, Al Trazz's 'Mob' could spread the disease around the world in two or three days." She looked directly at Wade's image in the Kimunicator screen. "Could you run a calculation for me, Mr. Load?"

"Sure thing, Dr. Director. And, please, just call me 'Wade.' Everybody else does."

"Very well, Wade. Assume that just one person is infected with the influenza, and that person infects ten more people each day. Each infected person passes the disease on to ten more people on each day, starting the day after they catch the disease. This continues for each person, day after day. How many people would be infected by the end of two weeks?"

Wade nodded, "Okay, I see what you want . . . let's see here . . . " There was a brief clicking of keys, then Wade stopped and stared at his secondary screen. He shook his head, tapped a few more keys, and then looked up with a shocked expression.

"Dr. Director, I've got an answer, but it's hard to believe. After two weeks, over thirty-four and a half _trillion_ people would be infected, which is lots more than the world's total population. I'd have to say that at the rate you described, everybody in the world would be sick after about ten days."

Being an actuary, Gene Stoppable was used to the sort of question that Betty had asked, so he had pulled out his pocket calculator and started crunching numbers as soon as Wade did. He now interrupted the conversation with his own comment.

"Excuse me? If you allow for the fact that not everybody could meet ten healthy people each day, because they were in a hospital or in a small, isolated community, and the fact that some people would die in a few day's time after getting sick," he paused and scratched his chin in thought. "And, allowing for places that were cut off from outside contact, such as research stations in the Arctic and the Antarctic, or really isolated villages, islands, and such, I make it that eighty-seven percent of humanity could be infected in just nine days."

Betty nodded. "The Global Justice medical section calculated that the worse case scenario would be a catastrophe on a global scale." She hesitated a moment. "Their estimate was that half a billion people might have died in about four months."

Joss raised a hand. "Ma'am, if this polecat spread this super-flu around, what would keep him an' his boys from catching it, too?"

"Along with the virus, Mr. Trazz was going to have a supply of vaccine made, so he could immunize himself and his 'Mob,'" Betty explained. "Once the news that this plague was possible got out, just imagine what people would pay to get vaccinated and be protected from it."

Slim gave a long whistle. "He could wind up ownin' the whole country, without ever usin' the stuff!"

"That was the idea," Kim remarked. "I heard one of 'The Mob' say that Big Al was going to demand the Hawaiian Islands as his personal estate, and have New Zealand as a private vacation resort for his men."

"That's why it was essential get an agent into Al Trazz's 'Mob' ASAP, to locate and destroy his stock of the 1918 influenza virus before he could release it. La Chatonne was our only real chance to do this," Dr. Director explained.

"And when I broke my leg on a totally routine operation," Yolanda remarked, "we had to find somebody to fill my place at once." Her face bore an expression that mixed sheepishness and annoyance.

"If La Chatonne had appeared with a leg in a cast, shortly after I was obviously hurt, Big Al would have spotted the connection and my chance of getting into 'The Mob' would have been gone."

"I immediately contacted Kim and asked her to take Yolanda's place, " said Betty. "I told her about the influenza virus, and why the mission was so important. She immediately volunteered to take over as La Chatonne." She gazed around the table before she went on. "Al's request for La Chatonne to kill Kim in order to become a member of 'The Mob' was totally unexpected. My only excuse for putting all of you through six weeks of pain is this: by doing it, over three hundred million people's lives have been saved."

James Possible frowned. "Even so, I think you could have let us know that Kim was alive, and working undercover. We could have kept quiet about it."

"But if anybody made a slip, and Al Trazz found out that La Chatonne was really Kim Possible, she'd have been dead in no time at all." At Betty's words James' face turned pale.

"Sometimes you have to take extreme measures on an operation, James," said Nana Possible. "I know that, and you should know it, too."

"James, all of us have been through an agonizing time, these past six weeks," Ann remarked, "no one more than you and I. But when I think of what could have happened to the world if that influenza virus had been released, I say, our pain was a very small price to pay, to prevent that plague." She looked directly down the table at her husband.

Kim put one hand on her father's shoulder, and took Ron's right hand in her own left hand. "Daddy . . . Ron . . . everybody," she began. "I hated every minute I had to make all of you think I was dead. When Betty asked me to fill in as La Chatonne I never thought I'd have to do something like that. I've thought about it for weeks, and I just can't think of anything else I could have done." She let her gaze pass over everyone else at the table, including Rufus and Wade's image on the Kimunicator screen.

"Will you . . . can you . . . forgive me for hurting you all?" Kim's voice sounded almost tearful. Ron took his hand away from Kim's, frowned in thought, and exchanged a look with Rufus, who wore an equally serious expression.

"KP, I think it will take a while before Rufus and I can forgive you." Kim's heart sank, and a stricken look flashed across her face. If she lost Ron's friendship, then the price for this mission was almost too great to bear.

Ron looked at his father's wristwatch for about ten seconds, still frowning in thought. Then he looked up at Rufus, and his face broke out in his usual goofy grin.

"Well, that's long enough, eh, Rufus?"

The mole rat grinned in reply, and said, "Yup! Yup!"

They both turned back to Kim. "Just one thing, KP: don't **ever** do anything like that again!" Rufus said "Uh-uh, no way," as an echo to Ron's statement. Everyone in the room chuckled and visibly relaxed, and then Kim's grandmother spoke up.

"By the way, how did Mr. Trazz get hold of this virus?" Nana asked.

"In 1995 a research expedition went to a deserted mining village in northern Canada, and recovered the bodies of several people who died of the flu in the winter of 1918-1919," Dr. Director explained. "Examples of the virus were recovered from one body, and delivered to the National Disease Control Commision for study. Eighteen months ago a routine check discovered that the virus samples at the NDCC had been replaced with a sterile solution, and Global Justice was called in to find them."

"But . . . you did find these viruses . . . you destroyed them, didn't you?" Gene Stoppable leaned forward as he spoke.

"We did, thanks to Kim," said Betty. "Everybody on earth owes you a great deal of thanks, Kimberly Ann. But it's very doubtful that you'll ever get any bit of credit for it, outside of this room, here today."

"Meh, no big," said Kim. "After all, Betty, saving the world . . . it's what I do."

"Even so," Betty replied, "Global Justice has certain discretionary funds available, and I'd like to give you this, as a token of appreciation for what you did. Rufus, will you please take this to Kim?" She beckoned to the mole rat, took an envelope from her folder, and handed it to him. Rufus then scurried down the table and passed the envelope to Kim.

Kim opened the envelope, pulled out a bank check, and gasped.

"A . . . million . . . dollars? Oh, Betty, I can't accept - "

"Please, Kimberly. Stopping Al Trazz meant I had to put you and everyone else in this room through six weeks of agony. I heard you cry yourself to sleep in my quarters more than once, these past six weeks," Dr. Director remarked. "You deserve ten times that amount, but I'm afraid this is the best that I can do."

"But, this really should go to everybody else." Kim gestured at the rest of those around the table as she spoke. "They're the ones who were hurt."

"KP, knowing you're alive is worth a million dollars to me."

"Kimmie-cub, let's put it in a trust fund until you're twenty-one," said James. "I'm sure you can find something to do with it by then."

Kim looked at her father, then at Ron, and then the others around the table. Her brothers, Nana and Joss were all nodding with a 'Go on, take it!' air. Finally Kim shrugged her acceptance. "All right, Daddy." She handed him the check. "When I turn twenty-one you'll have a millionaire in the family."

Joss leaned forward and caught Kim's attention. "Cousin Kim? How did you like being this La Chatonne?" she eagerly asked.

"Yeah, what was it like . . . "

" . . . being a crook?" the twins finished. All three wore delighted grins on their faces.

Kim seemed to consider the matter for almost a minute before answering.

"Well, it was sort of fun." Kim's expression shifted from 'thoughtful' to what could only be called 'wickedly impish.' She looked at Wade in the Kimunicator screen, then Ron and Rufus. "You know, guys, I think that if I tried, I could be a very successful cat burglar." They all smiled back at her, while Yolanda picked up the cue and spoke.

"Why not, Miss Possible? You have all the necessary skills and training."

"Everybody needs a second profession, KP," Ron calmly said.

"I could find you a lot of profitable targets, Kim," said Wade, tapping his keyboard as he went along with the gag. "There's an American 1918 airmail stamp called 'The Inverted Jenny,' worth eight hundred thousand dollars, in a collection in Los Angeles. And here's a gold Brasher Doubloon worth three million, in a coin museum, just _asking _to be taken!"

"I know of a statuette of Venus that would make an easy target," Yolanda remarked. "Once you got it, the owner would pay handsomely to get it back."

"How is it you know about this, my dear?" asked Nana, with a smile.

"My grandmother — 'La Chatte' — sold it to an art collector in 1959," she answered. "Supposedly it was made by Benvenuto Cellini, but one of my great-great-great grandfathers was really the man who carved it." Everyone gazed at Yolanda with renewed interest as she explained.

"He was a professional art forger in the 1890s, but always sold his work to private collectors who had more money than they knew what to do with. Grandmother sold the statuette 'under the counter,' after it was supposedly stolen from a private collection." She winked at Nana, who nodded and grinned in return.

"Actually, the statuette had been in my family since it was carved, and Grandfather only let it go because he needed the money."

"Did your grandfather collect insurance money for the 'theft' of this statue?" asked James, with a disapproving tone.

"Certainly not! To take insurance money in such a case would be a crime! Besides, the buyer offered a high price for it, even before it was 'stolen,'" Yolanda replied. "Twenty years ago the first buyer sold it for a large profit to another private collector, who keeps it locked away so he can gloat over it."

Kim nodded thoughtfully. "Just where is this statue located now?"

Joss, Jim and Tim all grinned, and chorused, "Yeah!" Rufus rubbed his front paws in anticipation, and traded an evil look with Ron.

"Now, see here, Kimberly Ann!" said James. "We Possibles have been law-abiding citizens for six generations, and you're not going to change that now!"

In an innocent manner, Tim and Jim asked, "Dad, didn't you tell us, once . . . "

" . . . that one of our ancestors was a pirate?"

"He was a privateer, boys," James Possible firmly replied. "There's a big difference."

Wade, Tim, Jim, Joss, Ron, Rufus and Kim all burst out laughing. "Daddy, we're joking!"

"James, I think your leg came off in Kim's hand, just then," Ann added, with a broad smile. Kim's father looked around the table and noted the grins on everyone's faces.

"Oh? Ah, yeah . . . " James grinned sheepishly at his brother. "I walked right into that one, didn't I, Slim?"

"I reckon you did, Squirt," he chuckled, "I reckon you did."

**Middleton High School, First Day of the Fall Semester**

The halls of the High School were filled with new, incoming freshmen, and the various sophomores, junior and seniors who had been here before. The seniors were mostly thrilled at starting their senior year, while a few were wondering if they could handle the load. In other words, as Vice Principal Steve Barkin observed, it was the same semi-organized madhouse it usually was. Between the first and second class periods Bonnie Rockwaller, Kim, Ron and Kim's best female friend Monique all happened to meet in the hall, and Bonnie started her senior year in the same fashion as she had started each of the three previous years. With a verbal attack on Kim Possible.

"Well, I'd heard that you were 'missing' in the Bahamas, K. I see somebody must have found you. Have an interesting summer vacation?"

"Pretty interesting, _Bonnie_," Kim made the name sound like an epithet, and smiled her 'hungry shark' smile in reply. "My family and Ron went to Nassau, but on the fourth day we were there I died in an exploding submarine."

"Oh, clev-er! You mean you're a ghost, now?" Bonnie sneered. "Really, Kim, you are so weird!"

"Well, sure, Kim got vaporized," said Ron, calmly, "but it wasn't really permanent."

"You know Kim," Monique added. "She just needed some time to pull herself together again."

"After all, Bonnie," Kim said in a sweet tone, "anything is possible . . . for a Possible!"

**[End of Story]**

Historical notes: In 1351, agents for Pope Clement VI calculated the number of dead in Christian Europe due to the Black Death at 23,840,000. With a preplague population of about 75 million, this casualty figure accounts for a mortality of 31 %.

At one period over 40 % of the people who got the 1918 influenza died of it. In October, 1918, the Surgeon General of the United States Army estimated that if the epidemic continued growing over the next weeks as it had grown in the previous weeks, then civilization could disappear from the face of the earth by 1919. Fortunately the epidemic began to burn itself out by November, 1918.

The "Inverted Jenny" stamp is a 24-cent U. S. airmail stamp issued in 1918. An error in the printing process had the Curtiss JN-4 "Jenny" airplane shown on the stamp upside down. About 700 of the stamps were misprinted, but inspectors caught all except a single sheet of 100 stamps before any were sold. The single sheet that was sold was bought by stamp collector William Robey on May 14, 1918, at a Washington post office. The sheet was later broken up into small blocks and individual stamps. In December 2007, a single "Inverted Jenny" airmail stamp was sold at auction for the price of eight hundred and twenty-five thousand U. S. dollars.

The "Brasher Doubloon" is a privately minted gold coin created by Ephraim Brasher in 1787. Seven examples are known to exist. Its rarity, unique design, and purity of the gold in it make it the most highly valued of American gold coins.

Benvenuto Cellini was an Italian goldsmith and sculptor who lived from 1500 to 1571.


End file.
